


Anew

by Timeless A-Peel (timelessapeel)



Series: The New Avengers Arc [2]
Category: New Avengers (TV)
Genre: Action, Adventure, Friendship, Gen, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-05
Updated: 2012-01-05
Packaged: 2017-10-29 00:41:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 89,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/313946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timelessapeel/pseuds/Timeless%20A-Peel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First in a series. After six months, Gambit and Steed's partnership is unraveling. When they are assigned to investigate a set of mysterious murders, Steed enlists the assistance of a young trainee agent, Purdey Bryde. Can the three of them forge a team?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Teaser

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended
> 
> Timeline: First in a series. Takes place in late December, 1975, a full four months before the start of the series in April, 1976. It is strongly recommended that you go back and read the previous story in the arc, Lost Boys. Those interested in the rest of the series are, of course, invited to read the subsequent stories in the arc.
> 
> For more information about the series, please see my profile.
> 
> \--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Arthur Stanbury checked his watch as he hurried along the quiet London sidestreet. It was indecently early by most sane people's standards, but Stanbury wasn't most people—not today, at any rate. He had an early meeting before work this morning. His boss had insisted that he be present, although Arthur wasn't entirely certain why. He was a junior member of the company at best. There was no real reason he needed to be there. But his boss was a bit of a sadist, and he certainly wasn't fond of Stanbury, so this was probably his way of making the clerk's life miserable. It was working, too. Stanbury had, against the orders of his boss, slept through his alarm, and now even as he broke into a run, he knew he was going to be late. Not unless the distance between his current location and his place of work magically shrunk in the next five minutes.

Or I took a shortcut. Arthur noticed the alley as he hurried by, paused in spite of himself, and backtracked. He passed this particular alleyway every day, twice a day, on his commute to and from the office. There was chain roped across it at either end, with a sign hanging from the middle. 'No Trespassing.' Arthur was never entirely certain why the company that owned the building was so keen to keep people out. By law they weren't allowed to obstruct it entirely, but at the same time, all Arthur could see down the corridor were the usual suspects—dumpsters, cardboard boxes, other bits and pieces of rubbish. Not exactly national security. But Arthur was a law-abiding fellow, and he obeyed signs. Usually. But usually he wasn't late, wasn't looking forward to a tongue-lashing by his boss. Surely this once it would be all right to trespass on the territory of a bunch of cardboard boxes. After all, he wasn't going to do any harm. And it was so early that there wasn't likely to be anyone around to catch him. If he was caught, he'd explain the predicament as quickly as possible. No one could really be angry at a chap for trying to make it to work on time. Time was of the essence. Arthur made his decision, stepped over the chain, and hurried off down the alley.

He hadn't gotten far before he heard some sort of strange thrumming sound. He hadn't been able to hear it on the sidewalk, but the farther he went, the louder it got, magnified as it bounced between the two brick walls. It sounded like some sort of machine, electronic perhaps. Echoing all around him, it was difficult to discern the source, but Stanbury assumed it was coming from the company building, the one which had put the 'No Trespassing' signs up to begin with. They were probably into electronics, or computers, or something. Maybe it was the furnace down in the boiler room. Arthur didn't really care. All he wanted was to make it to work on time. He quickened his pace. The sound got louder with each step, then suddenly stopped. A soft burst of noise exploded from inside the building. Arthur only barely heard it. A second later he stopped going forward, and started going down. He collapsed face-first onto the ground with little grace, whole body limp, and lay there, unmoving. The alley was quiet now, but Arthur was in no condition to notice. His lateness was the least of his problems.

He was dead.

If Arthur Stanbury had been alive, he would likely have been interested to know that, months earlier, far off in the English countryside, another man, Toby Emerson, had also been trespassing, although for much different reasons than Arthur. He was a nature walker, and in his quest for new routes with which to indulge in his hobby, he had chosen grounds of a rambling old estate, one that came complete with extensive grounds, none of which the owner seemed interested in using. Emerson saw this as a shocking waste, and so, despite the signs clearly posted on the property line indicating that he was not welcome, he set about conquering the various hills a far enough distance from the manor house itself to avoid detection. It worked very well—Toby got his walk, and no one was the wiser. At least until the pulsing sound. It rolled out from the house and over the hills, rippling the grass as it went. Toby stopped to watch the strange effect. It wasn't the wind—there wasn't even a slight breeze in the trees. And yet the grass folded down in the wake of the noise, and, when it arrived at Toby, he folded, too, like a ragdoll.

Beyond the invisible barrier that separated the estate grounds from the rest of the world, birds sang, completely oblivious to the loss of one of their greatest admirers.


	2. A Disturbing Case

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended
> 
> Timeline: First in a series. Takes place in late December, 1975, a full four months before the start of the series in April, 1976. It is strongly recommended that you go back and read the previous story in the arc, Lost Boys. Those interested in the rest of the series are, of course, invited to read the subsequent stories in the arc.
> 
> For more information about the series, please see my profile.

The sheet covering Arthur Stanbury's body was pulled back, and John Steed leaned over the slab to examine him.

"And you say there's no evidence of any wound of any kind?" he queried.

"Nowhere except the impact wounds where he fell," Dr. James Kendrick, the Ministry's top medical man, said as he indicated the cuts and bruises on the man's face and chest. "And before you ask, those weren't enough to kill him, even if he was pushed, which I don't believe he was."

Steed tapped his umbrella handle against his top lip. "And there were no other signs of violence?"

"None," Kendrick confirmed. "No stab wounds, no bullets, not so much as the pinprick of a hypodermic. His system was clear of drugs, poisons, or any other nasty insinuating potions. Nothing ingested. He'd skipped breakfast from the looks of his stomach contents."

"And you've ruled out natural causes? Heart attack? Aneurysm?"

"I took the liberty of requesting his medical records. The man was 28. No family history of any serious disorders. He's reasonably fit. Liked the odd steak, that sort of thing, but not enough that he should drop dead at a moment's notice." Kendrick paused, bit his lip. "The odd thing is, he did die of a heart attack. Technically. I mean, his heart stopped, but so did everything else."

"In my experience, that tends to be the case," Steed said flippantly. "Rather difficult to soldier on without a heart."

Kendrick scowled at the quip. "Yes, but usually the heart stops first, and everything else follows suit at its own pace. In this case, judging by the bruising, the bleeding, the autopsy, everything else stopped at the exact moment the heart did."

Steed's brow furrowed. "Explain."

"I wish I could," Kendrick said with a shrug. "I'm not entirely certain what I mean myself. All I can tell you is, everything in the body was healthy and functional, and for some reason, all of the sudden, it all decided to switch off. Not because of any brain signal, mind you. The brain shut off at the same time as every other organ. Don't ask me why, but it's very odd."

"Very," Steed agreed, raising his eyebrows with interest.

"It gets better."

Steed's eyebrows climbed to heretofore unknown heights. "It doesn't."

"Oh, yes, it does." Kendrick moved on to the next shrouded cadaver, pulled back the sheet. Toby Emerson came into view.

"Toby Emerson. I've only just had him exhumed. Friend of mine in the next county noticed the similarities between the cases and tipped me off. He died much the same way. Everything shut down. The only difference was he was in the middle of the countryside. The grass cushioned his fall. No real impact wounds to speak of."

"But a simultaneous shutdown nonetheless," Steed filled in. "And a clean bill of health as well?"

"They don't come cleaner. I'm told he was a nature enthusiast or something. Hiking for years." Kendrick covered the dead man back up. "But you'll have to see your man in Files for that. I don't have the personal details. Just the health write-up. But I can't make myself write 'natural causes.' Not even with no other cause of death to go on."

"And that's where I come in," Steed said knowingly. McKay knew Steed went in for the weird and the unexplainable, although Steed hadn't had too much in the way of either of late. Espionage had turned disappointingly straightforward in the seventies. All the old diabolical masterminds had closed up shop. Now it was left up to the foreign powers to keep things going, stealing documents and killing agents. It was essential work, but not terribly stimulating. There were only so many ways to slide a knife between someone's ribs, after all. He let his brolly slide down into his hand, and he twirled it enthusiastically. He was quite looking forward to a little diversion. There were one too many dossiers on his desk that needed reading, and he was determined to ignore them for as long as possible. "Thank you, Kendrick. I think I will pay a visit to Files. Do you think you can hold on to Emerson and Stanbury a few days longer? I'd like someone else to take a look at them before they go underground."

"Of course," Kendrick agreed. "Who should I expect?"

"Oh, he's away at the moment," Steed said with a small, knowing smile. "But I think he'll be returning very soon, at very short notice. In fact, may I borrow your phone?"

"Help yourself," Kendrick replied, indicating the instrument before heading for his office. Steed picked up the receiver and told the switchboard to dial an international number. It rang five times before a disgruntled voice answered. Steed smiled and looked at his watch. It was very early in the morning in Canada.

"Gambit," he greeted, in his most painfully cheerful voice. "You're needed."

Mike Gambit squinted blearily at the clock on his bedside table. The illuminated numbers told him it was 4:15 a.m. Ontario time. Which made it after nine in England.

"Do you know what time it is?" he grumbled by way of a greeting, even though he knew Steed was quite aware of how many timezones to count off. In his groggy state, it was the best way he knew of making his displeasure known. But Steed was unruffled.

"I know it's extremely early at your end," he conceded, "but a very interesting development has only just come to my attention, and I thought you may like to be involved."

"You're asking for my help," Gambit translated, reaching resignedly for the lamp on the bedside table. Steed wasn't going to let him go back to sleep any time soon. "You do realize that I only adjusted to the time change last night? I thought I was set for my first decent sleep since I got here."

"Ah, yes, how is Canada?" Steed wanted to know, but he was cut off by a brief burst of swearing as Gambit's eyes rebelled to the sudden splash of bright light from the lamp. He frowned at the outburst. "Surely it can't be that cold?"

Gambit flopped back on the bed, a hand draped over his eyes, and tried to think calming thoughts. That some of these involved throttling John Steed with his own umbrella did not seem inconsistent with his peace of mind. "Not horrifically. We've had a dump of snow, though. In any case, I've managed to find some, uh, 'creative' ways of keeping things warm under the covers."

"Hmm," was Steed's only reply. Gambit could tell he wasn't in the mood to hear about Mike's conquests. Which, in Gambit's opinion, was reason enough to go on about them.

"You won't believe where your accent will get you over here," he went on. "I'm the biggest novelty in the province at the moment. Although did you know Canadian girls have a bit of a lilt?"

"I know," Steed said pointedly, indicating that Gambit was not the first Brit to experience the advantages of a life lived across the pond. "Have you managed to accomplish anything that may not end in an international incident?"

Gambit grinned. Steed was difficult to ruffle, but it was always fun when he managed it. "One or two clever things with their computer system. And I liaised with the Americans. There's a lot of liaising going on, what with all these Christmas parties at the Embassies. And before you ask, yes, I was dressed." He frowned. "Wait a minute. Today's Christmas! Aren't you supposed to be at your sister's?"

"I was," Steed agreed, "but something's come up. Look, Gambit, I know you're very tired from all your, ah, liaising, but I need you back here. I want you to catch the next flight to England."

Gambit's hand sprang from his face, disregarding the newfound brightness of the lamp. "What? But I'm not due back until New Year's! I've got meetings to attend. McKay sent me out-"

"And McKay will be more than happy to take you back out again. We'll send someone else in to finish your 'work' in Canada."

Gambit could hear the quotation marks. He scowled.

"Here's an idea. Why don't you find someone on the right side of the Atlantic to help you out, and let me carry on with my assignment?"

"As much as I hate to stand in the way of your liaising," Steed replied, tongue positively buried in his cheek, "I'm afraid that no one else will do. You've made yourself indispensable, Gambit."

Gambit rolled his eyes heavenward, and sighed. He wasn't going to win. He hardly ever won where Steed was concerned. Arguing would only deprive of more precious minutes of sleep. "I'll start packing," he relented with a sigh. "When's the next flight?"

"I'll call you. The ticket will be waiting at check-in at Toronto International," Steed said with the glee of a man who had won, and knew it. "Enjoy your flight."

"Don't you think you've asked enough favours of me for one day?" Gambit said flatly.

"I'll see that it's first-class."

"Bye, Steed." Gambit hung up before the senior agent could answer with some parting shot, and flopped back on to the bed. One hand reached out vaguely and turned off the light, plunging the hotel room back into darkness. He was determined to get some more sleep before making the trans-Atlantic journey, but his conversation with Steed had left him alert, and his eyelids refused to droop. He lay awake instead, staring up at the darkened ceiling, wondering idly what was so important that Steed would cancel his Christmas plans and drag him overseas to help. At the moment he didn't care much. Knowing Steed, it would be either linked in some way to his past, or mind-bogglingly bizarre. Most assignments he'd read in files fell into one of those categories. And Gambit had read a lot of files.

Gambit turned over in bed. It had been just over six months since John Steed had intercepted Mike on his way out of Dr. Kendrick's office with an offer he couldn't refuse, because Steed wouldn't let him. "Work with me." That was the simple, innocuous proposal. "Work with me," and he promised he could put a word in McKay's ear and get Gambit an exemption from a hard and fast Ministry rule. Chapter 4, section 29, paragraph B of the agent's handbook. "Every agent must, within six months of active duty, be assigned to a permanent partner with whom he must undertake the majority of his assignments." Agents came in pairs. That was the rule. Everyone knew it. But Mike Gambit didn't want a partner. He wanted to get on with the job and be left alone with his thoughts in return. It wasn't that he didn't know how to work with people—on the contrary, he worked very well, and he was on good terms with many of the Ministry's most active and respected agents. It probably worked against him in the end, because people kept pushing him to choose someone so they could put the paperwork together once and for all. No one could understand quite what the problem was. Except McKay. Because he was the only one who knew.

Thomas McKay knew the backgrounds of all his agents. He had to—he signed off on them when they achieved full agent status after they'd completed their training and undergone the full battery of tests. And McKay knew all the little idiosyncrasies, all the old wounds, the old baggage. Few men arrived at the Ministry intact. It was almost an unwritten rule. Everyone had some reason or another for deciding that a high-risk job like this was a better alternative than a nice safe office position that didn't involve getting shot at and being called in at a moment's notice. Some stories were worse than others. There were the military men who had tired of army life, but wanted to put their hard-earned skills to use. Gambit could fit into that category, technically. His days in the Navy, and then the Army, were no secret to his peers. But Gambit's military service hadn't driven him into the Ministry in itself. It was how he had spent his final years, and, in particular, the last three months, that made him so much more than a standard-issue carryover from one form of service to the other. Mike Gambit hadn't been whole when he stepped into a soundproof interview room and submitted himself to a psychiatric analysis. The tape still existed somewhere, with his file. It made Gambit wince. He'd talked about everything in that room. Everything. For perhaps the first time in his life. And McKay had listened to it and given his consent. Mike Gambit could be a good agent, scars or no. "Let him in," had been the final verdict. "He'll heal in time."

He had, for the most part. The nightmares hardly ever came nowadays. But one stubborn wound refused to close, and because of it, Mike Gambit didn't want a partner. He wanted to be alone. He'd gotten used to being alone. He'd had a lot of practice with it, and in some ways it had made his mind sharper. There was a wonderful clarity to be found in solitude. And besides, when he was alone, there was no one to prod him about his past. Only a few people in his life he trusted to confide in properly. Sara. Spence. But one day, he'd found himself in another room, a dark, claustrophobic, terrifyingly familiar room, and he'd added a new name to the list.

Steed.

Steed knew. Oh, Steed knew better than anyone what sort of trials had been suffered by Mike Gambit's soul, his body, his mind. Gambit had read about Steed's own ordeal, and for once felt as though he were talking to someone who wouldn't judge, wouldn't analyze, would simply understand. And at the end of everything, they'd made a deal. Gambit would work for Steed, and in return Steed would be someone Gambit could trust. No games. No manipulations. No machinations. Just an understanding of where the line was, and an agreement not to cross it. It was an agreement with which they were both satisfied, and Gambit surprisingly felt better for it. But before the pair of them could embark on their next assignment, McKay had given Gambit another file. The Berlin assignment.

Gambit had been sent undercover to the other side of the Wall to gather intel and trace the source of a leak in the Ministry's security. It was the perfect assignment for an agent with a preference for working alone—long stretches with no contact with his own people, keeping himself very much to himself. It had all been going brilliantly well until the Ministry's leak had blown his cover. Due to the limited number of people that had known about Gambit's assignment, it had proved useful in the end, helping to confirm the identity of the double agent. But it had gotten Gambit locked up, and he'd spent an uncomfortable two weeks in confinement before managing an escape, but not before picking up three bullets as he scrambled over the Wall.

When he woke up in hospital to find Steed reading the Times at his bedside, he'd been oddly comforted. Steed was very good about not treating him like an invalid, which Gambit appreciated, and was even better about getting him discharged from the hospital at the earliest possible date, more than sympathetic to the younger man's dislike of the institutions. Gambit had been left to recuperate at home, and when he felt strong enough to return to the Ministry building, it was Steed he paid a visit to first, determined to show him he was ready for duty. Steed had agreed, and they had shared a friendly chat about old war wounds and how soon they'd gone back out for more after receiving them. Steed cheerfully admitted that he'd gone out when he should have been in bed more times than was really strictly healthy, but had been more than willing to take Gambit's word for it when he said he was fit for duty. Gambit had left with the pleasant feeling that comes from talking to someone who confirms everything one believes. He felt ready. Kendrick said he was ready. Steed said he was ready. And, more importantly, he agreed that Gambit was perfectly suited, both mentally and physically, for the much-coveted Penningworth assignment.

The details didn't matter, not anymore. Truth be told, they'd been a bit sketchy, doled out on a need-to-know basis, but Gambit had learned enough to know that it would easily prove his credentials and make his career. And the requirements were ideally suited to his background. Steed had agreed on that front as well, understanding just how far the job could go toward bolstering Gambit's credibility, and how much Mike fit the bill. It was a solo jaunt, but Gambit promised the senior agent he'd put in his time under his command as soon as he returned. Gambit left feeling optimistic about his chances, and threw his hat in the ring.

It wasn't picked up.

Initial inquiries were unsuccessful. No one seemed to want to give him an answer as to why he'd been passed over that wasn't vague and meaningless. But Gambit knew the Ministry's bureaucratic system better than he would have liked, and all the correct places to put pressure. A few well-placed friends pointed him in the right direction, and in the end all it cost him was a dinner date with the rather attractive file clerk to see the pertinent paperwork. But when he opened the file and skimmed down to his name, and the reason he was considered 'unsuitable,' he felt a cold hard knot form in his stomach.

The reason was listed as "unfit for duty," and had been provided, much to Gambit's surprise, by one John Steed, with the agreement of Dr. James Kendrick. Gambit felt his jaw drop as cold realization set in.

Steed had recommended to the top brass that Gambit not be given the Penningworth assignment, even though he knew Gambit was ideally suited to it, both in skills and temperament. He knew it required a solo agent with the right amount of experience, and it was the sort of challenge he would relish, both to burnish his own reputation as a man who could get things done on his own, and as a personal triumph. But Steed had stated that he was still unfit for duty, providing as a reason the Berlin assignment, which had supposedly "taken too much out of him," and recommended that he be consigned to domestic assignments for the time being which, coincidentally enough, would be overseen by Steed himself. Steed hadn't voiced any such concerns when Gambit had spoken to him, and Mike had a sneaking suspicion that he had been played, that Steed had manipulated his injuries from scrambling over the wall for his own benefit, just so he could use him for his own purposes. It flew in the face of their agreement. And led him to some uncomfortable conclusions.

If Steed could treat him this cavalierly when they weren't even on assignment together, could he ever really trust him when they actually started working as a unit? Gambit's trust in the man had been traded for wariness and petulance, and the relationship between the two men had been fraught with conflict and tension ever since. Gambit knew he was the instigator of the frosty relations, but he felt justified. Steed had seemed vaguely bemused about his truculent attitude, but had eventually given in and settled with trying to make things work as best he could. The senior agent likely was putting Gambit's mood down to growing pains as the two men got to know each other, but Mike knew that explanation was wearing thin, and relations between them were souring fast. There was more than a little button pushing going back and forth between them now, as evidenced by the phone call. Gambit didn't see a way of mending their fractured partnership. Steed had played a game, broken their deal, betrayed his trust. He was no different than so many others he had known. He had to keep Steed at arm's length if he was going to survive.

Survive, he thought to himself, as his eyelids drooped and he passed into a dreamless sleep.


	3. Making Connections

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, John Steed, and Thomas McKay. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended
> 
> Timeline: First in a series. Takes place in late December, 1975, a full four months before the start of the series in April, 1976. It is strongly recommended that you go back and read the previous story in the arc, Lost Boys. Those interested in the rest of the series are, of course, invited to read the subsequent stories in the arc.
> 
> For more information about the series, please see my profile.
> 
> \--------------------------------------

When John Steed opened his office door at six that evening, he was not entirely surprised to find Mike Gambit waiting inside. He had ensconced himself in the chair in front of his desk, booted feet resting on the edge of the desk itself. He was perusing a file that Steed recognized as also coming off his desk—the Stanbury file. When Gambit heard Steed open the door he looked up and glanced over his shoulder at the new arrival, eyes bearing the telltale signs of one who has endured two trans-Atlantic flights in too short a time, and hasn't had time to recover from the first one yet.

"Gambit," Steed greeted, closing the office door behind him. "McKay told me you might be in soon. How was the flight?"

"Don't remember," Gambit grumbled, flipping the file shut with a snap. "I slept through most of it. I didn't get much kip last night for some strange reason." He glared at Steed pointedly, but the senior agent was unrepentant about being his early morning wake-up call.

"Ah, well, it was all for a good cause. We've got an assignment."

"So I gathered," Gambit replied, shifting uncomfortably in the chair. "And you couldn't have dragged in one of the boys who wasn't collecting frequent flyer points?"

"I needed your unique, ah, style."

"Now I know something's up," Gambit said wryly. "That's the most diplomatic way you've ever put it. For one, you're not yelling."

Steed's eyes flashed briefly. "You must be mistaken," he said calmly. "I've never yelled. Simply offered some friendly advice in a slightly strident tone." As Steed walked past, he hooked his brolly round Gambit's ankles and gave it a firm tug to loose his feet from their moorings and deposit them back on the floor where they belonged. Gambit gripped the arms of his chair automatically to keep from losing his balance, the file nearly sliding off his lap in the process. He shot Steed a dangerous look before rearranging himself and crossing ankle over knee.

"So," Gambit went on, looking back at the file as though nothing had happened. "Stanbury. I assume he's the one we're interested in?"

"He's only half of the story," Steed elaborated, removing bowler and brolly and setting both down on his desk. "The other half is one Toby Emerson, nature lover." He handed Gambit Emerson's file from his 'In' tray, and the younger man took it, setting it on top of Stanbury's and flipping it open. The blue-green eyes flicked quickly down the pages, taking everything in. Gambit was incredibly good at absorbing documents and picking out the pertinent details in a surprising short space of time. Steed didn't know where exactly he had picked up the skill, if his idle days spent in Files had simply been good to him, or if he had honed it all his life, but he watched him with more than a touch of admiration nonetheless. It wasn't more than a minute before the eyes stopped flicking and rose to meet Steed's.

"They were both 'switched off,'" he stated, having found the common link. "Walking along and—" He snapped his fingers. "Just like that?"

"Just like that," Steed echoed.

Gambit shuddered in spite of himself, eyebrows rising in mild apprehension. "And Kendrick's certain the cause of death was the same for both?"

"You know Kendrick. If you want to question his conclusions, be my guest."

Gambit snorted at the challenge. "He's always fairly accurate when it comes to my test results, so I suppose we're all right." He switched back to Stanbury's file, frowned. "It says here that Stanbury was moved after he died." He paused while he digested some more of the file. "His impact injuries suggest a cobbled road, but he was found in an alley with smooth pavement." He paused again, jaw working slightly. "That alley wasn't secluded. Passersby found him. Why would someone bother to move a body to a spot where he was just as likely, or more, to be found?"

Steed smiled inwardly. Gambit's mind was on the assignment now, all truculent schoolboy antics forgotten. Gambit could be hard to pull into an assignment, but once a mystery climbed into his brain, it tended to stay there and was very hard to shake free. More than once Steed had had to send his young colleague home to sleep, and even then he was more than certain that Gambit stayed up long after all the good men and women of the world had gone off to bed, pondering the details in search of just what it was that he was missing. If he could be like that dedicated agent all of the time, Steed would be a happy man. It was the gaps between assignments that proved trying. In the earlier days, Gambit in the off-hours had proven a good companion, but not since he'd returned from Berlin. Not when he was with Steed, at any rate.

"If you're going to leave a body out in the open," Gambit was saying, and Steed snapped back to reality with a jolt, "you're either stupid or cocky. And I don't think anyone who's developed a way to kill people quite like this is stupid."

"Cocky it is," Steed chimed in with a smile, but it faded quickly. "But why is he so confident?"

"He must think we won't be able to trace it back to him. Or he doesn't think it'll matter if we do." Gambit bit his lip. That line of thought worried him. It was bad enough when people tried to cover things up. When they didn't care who knew, it usually meant that they were dangerously close to achieving their ends, and those ends were never very good for a large sector of the population. Gambit glanced at Steed and saw the same concerns reflected in the grey eyes. If Steed was worried… Gambit returned his attention to the Emerson file. "The other bloke wasn't moved," he observed, "so the killer must not have been too worried about where he was found." He started to flip between them. "Is there any link other than cause of death?"

Steed shook his head. "None. They were in two different lines of work, neither of which was connected even remotely to anything out of the ordinary. And they died months apart. No, the way they died is the only connection. They both suffered the same unusual type of murder. That's why I brought you in. One suspicious death is tolerable, but two?"

"And there's always the possibilityof more." Gambit finished the unspoken thought, jaw working gently. "Who made the original connection?"

"Kendrick," Steed informed. "He has a colleague in the area where Emerson was found. The death was unusual, and he told the good doctor about it. So when they brought Stanbury in—"

"He made the link," Gambit deduced. "So if it was just by chance someone made the connection between these two, there may be more ordinary citizens out there who died the same way, but their death certificates were filled in and they were buried without a fuss. Someone who didn't look closely enough could have put it down to heart attack, or natural causes, or—" He froze, eyes distant, and Steed could see the wheels turning behind them. "Or a bullet." Without warning, Gambit sprang up from his chair, tossing the files on Steed's desk and opening the office door. "I need to get down to Files," he told the surprised Steed.

"Why?"

"Follow me and I'll tell you," Gambit said crisply, already striding purposefully out into the corridor. Steed made after him. He caught up with the younger man before he could make it too far, but Gambit's stride was long and determined, just like his face. Steed could tell he was thinking, and opted not to interrupt him for the moment. He waited until they were in the Files room, and Gambit had requested a specific dossier from the girl behind the counter. Only then did he turn to Steed and explain.

"Look, what you said about connections. I think I may have found another one. Do you remember Reggie Travers?"

Steed frowned in thought. "Yes. Not one of mine, but I do recall he collaborated with some of my agents. He was killed a few weeks back, wasn't he? I was sorry to hear it."

"Yeah," Gambit confirmed, jaw working angrily now. Steed knew Gambit took the deaths of fellow agents particularly hard when he knew them personally. Because of significant events in Gambit's own past, Steed knew each death also reminded him a little of the fate Gambit knew could possibly befall him one of these days. A fate that he thought Gambit sometimes believed was predestined, because the younger man had already survived something by all rights he should not have. Gambit's introspection was broken when the young file clerk handed him his dossier. Gambit thanked her and flicked it open, scanned the contents. It was Travers' personnel file, and Steed could see Gambit was seeking out details of the man's death. He skimmed the pages quickly before handing them to Steed.

"Look," he said, pointing at the page. "Travers had been shot twice, and they put that down as cause of death. But look at the medical examiner's report." He tapped the paper with force. "There was something odd about the bullet wounds, the way they bled. They thought Travers might have already been dead when they shot him."

Steed looked up at Gambit in sudden understanding. "But why shoot a dead man?"

"Unless you wanted to cover up how he really died," Gambit finished. "But there wasn't a mark on Travers. Nothing. They ruled out drugs, injections. He wasn't suffocated, didn't drown. It was almost as if—"

"Someone switched him off," Steed chorused in unison with his colleague. "We'll arrange an exhumation," Steed decided. "Have Kendrick take a look at him. But we'll also need to find what connects one of our agents to two civilians."

"Right." Gambit was already perusing the file. "Travers was killed while investigating Edward Wollerton's company."

"He's very big in electronics and computers, isn't he?" Steed queried, and Gambit nodded in confirmation. "Investigating what, exactly?"

Gambit frowned as he read. "Nothing in particular. Security mostly. He was doing the same for a handful of companies in the same field. Wollerton's company has some government contracts up for renewal, and he was supposed to make sure that everything was on the up-and-up with all the bidders. Apparently there were whispers something might be a little dodgy, but it's all pretty vague." Gambit flipped the page and went on to the next. "Travers was conducting surveillance on all the companies at the time—Wollerton and his competition. Near the end he started paying more attention to Wollteron's lot, but he didn't report anything before he died, and we're not entirely certain whether he was killed because of Wollerton or someone else who didn't like him snooping."

"There wasn't a follow-up?"

Gambit shook his head as he scanned the file. "The file's been sent to the powers-that-be for review. They're supposedly trying to determine whether or not one dead agent is worth annoying a whole sector of the economy. Some of them can't be too happy if they figured out that someone was poking around in their dealings, and there's nothing concrete to implicate any of them. We've been ordered to tread softly. Politics before people, as usual." Gambit's mouth twisted angrily but he refrained from further comment. Steed made none because he was thinking. Connections. Always make connections.

"Wollerton," he said softly. "Wasn't there something about Wollerton in Emerson's file?"

Gambit's eyes flashed with the same gleam of recognition. "One way to find out," he murmured, a smile on his lips as he hurried out the door with Steed in the lead this time. The senior agent was already reading the file by the time he arrived back in the office.

"I thought as much," Steed said victoriously, turning around to look at Gambit, cradling the file in his arms. "Emerson was found on the outskirts of the grounds of Wollerton's estate. His groundskeeper claims to have found him while conducting his rounds."

"Snap." Gambit took the file and read it for himself. "That's a bit too much of a coincidence. How do you think Stanbury fits?"

"His body was moved," Steed pointed out. "Perhaps to a location that wouldn't implicate Wollerton."

Gambit sighed, feeling victory give way to cold hard reality. "We don't know that we have implicated Wollerton. After all, Travers didn't turn up anything concrete."

"How exactly was Travers conducting his investigation?" Steed wanted to know.

"Undercover," Gambit informed. "He was pretending to be a clerk."

"Did Wollerton's company know he was investigating them?"

"They shouldn't have," Gambit snorted. "That would sort of defeat the purpose of being undercover, wouldn't it?"

"Sometimes the people at the top find out what's going on regardless," Steed reminded. "Wollerton has friends in high places who may have put the word out. And someone who found out Travers was as agent could have killed him preemptively, whether he'd discovered anything or not. If they had something to hide..." He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "We need to put someone else in there."

Gambit yawned, the plane ride and jet lag catching up to him in a sudden wave. "Good luck. Travers was one of the best there was when it came to undercover jobs. They'll keep their eyes open now that they've had one spy in their midst. If they spotted him, there's no way you could sneak any man in there unnoticed. They'll have their beady eye on newcomers."

Steed frowned. "That's true," he agreed. "One of our men would seem a bit obvious now." He smiled suddenly, a slow, sly, secretive smile. He turned it on Gambit. "You're tired, Gambit. Go home and get some sleep. You've done some excellent work here. I'll ponder the problem for the evening and get back to you."

Gambit looked visibly relieved. He was exhausted. But he offered a token "You're sure?" anyway.

"Positive. Run along and I'll see what I can come up with."

"Well, all right. Could use a bit of kip. I'll see you soon, eh?"

"I'll call you," Steed promised, and waited until the younger agent was out of sight before murmuring, "No man could go in unnoticed. No man…" He smiled again. Funny how one problem tended to be solved by another. He left his office quickly. He had someone he needed to see.

"What Gambit needs is a woman," Steed announced buoyantly, striding into McKay's office and depositing bowler and brolly on his desk without bothering to knock.

"Doesn't he already find enough of them on his own?" McKay countered, glaring at the offending articles and plucking them off his paperwork. "And judging by this report from our Canadian friends, it seems he's just as successful overseas. Between the foreign agencies and our typing pool it's a wonder he gets anything done at all."

"Ah, but I meant a certain breed of woman," Steed said with an infuriatingly self-satisfied smile, plopping himself into a chair across from McKay and wagging his finger under his old friend's nose. "An equal. A partner. Someone to spar with, but also a friend and companion. Someone he doesn't feel is looming over his shoulder all of the time. Someone he can trust and bond with. And in my experience, women fit the bill admirably. So I think it's time I found him one. One who is more than able to resist his charms."

McKay raised an eyebrow. "You want one of your kind of woman," he said knowingly, leaning back in his seat. "But they're a rare breed, and I don't think Mrs. Peel will be having any of it."

Steed scowled at the mention of the name. "I would hope not," he said cryptically, and McKay frowned at his old friend's sudden bad humour. "But no, I didn't mean Mrs. Peel, or anyone else from my past. We need fresh blood. Gambit needs someone to go toe-to-toe with him, someone who's as much a stranger to me as he is. As I said, an equal. A contemporary. I'm still the authority figure, and that works against me. If he had someone to commiserate with, work with, I think the pair of us might gel a little easier."

"Do you?" McKay didn't sound surprised. "Well, you know that we don't allow talented amateurs into the business anymore, and even as your friend I'm not going to make an exception."

Steed smiled imploringly at his old friend. "But Tommy…"

"No 'buts' about it. You can source your miracle, Gambit-proof girl from within our ranks. Files, a clerk, anyone, but not a civilian. I don't relish dragging out the Official Secrets Act for someone else to sign."

"But she's not only for Gambit's benefit. We need someone for the assignment," Steed pressed. "I'm planning an undercover operation. I think a female secretary has the best chance of getting in undetected. It has to be a woman, and last I heard, the ranks of female agents were very slim."

"Slim, but not non-existent," Tommy countered, standing firm. He pressed a button on his intercom. "Bernice? Get me all the personnel files of active female agents, trainees, and any other staff with enough training under her belt to not make a complete botch-job of an operation."

"Yes, sir," came the reply, and McKay switched the intercom off.

"You can even consider Bernice, if you'd like," McKay offered with a smile. Steed frowned.

"Tommy, you know my qualifications. Women like Mrs. Gale, Mrs. Peel, and Miss King are a rare breed. Tara was a lucky break to discover within the confines of the Ministry. With so few qualified individuals, you can't possibly expect me to find someone with the right ingredients to work with Gambit and me, and to pull off an undercover job?"

"Try," was McKay's unsympathetic reply, and Steed sighed and settled in to wait for the files. Tommy really had become infuriating ever since he'd come to power.

The files, as Steed feared, weren't terribly encouraging. The Ministry was still taking in very few female agents, and those that had managed to pass the barrage of tests looked decidedly lacking in the humour department. Steed had a sense of humour, and so did Gambit, and some sturdy, stodgy sort was never going to endear herself to either of them. Part of Steed's conflicts with Mrs. Gale had stemmed from the lack of a common definition of what qualified as a joke.

On the other hand, there were plenty of women who looked as though they'd be willing to at least quirk an obliging eyebrow, but what they made up for in good nature, they lacked in skills. And experience. The Ministry employed vast armies of researchers, file clerks, radio operators, and cryptologists, but none of them had enough field experience or training for Steed to feel secure in sending her in undercover. The other problem was their compatibility with Gambit—in some cases it had been tested a little too well. Steed knew that, when it came to an attractive young Ministry operative, if the woman wasn't otherwise engaged, there was a fifty-fifty chance Gambit had gotten to her first, and the brief relationship that had ensued had likely already met its end. Steed didn't want a woman with a history with Gambit, and he didn't want one liable to start one within her first week on the job. He sighed and kept looking, but his spirits were sinking fast.

It was only near the bottom of the stack that Steed came across the thin sheaf of files that encompassed all the female trainee agents currently working their way through the Ministry's extensive and brutal battery of courses. Steed approached them with little hope, thoroughly demoralized by what he'd encountered so far. There was just no way of finding a rare woman of Mrs. Peel or Gale's caliber within the narrow confines of the Ministry's recruits. He cast a jaded eye over the first two profiles and came up with the same old well-worn reasons as to why neither girl would be suitable. He turned to the third profile with half a mind to give up the ghost and ask Tommy if he was interested in taking off early for a drink. But habit made him flip the file cover open and scan the contents. He froze halfway down the page.

It was her.

Steed read the specs with interest. A young woman, 27, in the last leg of her training course, due to take her tests early in the new year. Her scores in her classes thus far had been impressive. Shooting. Codes. Deductive reasoning. Combat. Languages. Driving. She was not only passing, but excelling. Steed felt himself brighten, turned the page eagerly. Her record was impeccable. She was always on time, worked well with others, and, from the notes made by her trainers, seemed to be very good with the opposite sex. She was able to easily mesh with them, but, more importantly, she was just as capable of keeping them at arm's length. "Does not fraternize," the typed notes informed. "Able to maintain professional boundaries while not compromising working relationships." Steed smiled to himself. Here she was, a godsend. Talented, promising, and with a proven record at resisting the charms of her fellow agents. Steed knew for a fact that Gambit didn't often mix with the trainees, so it was unlikely he'd had any contact with her, which suited him to a T. He wanted to orchestrate the all-important first meeting himself. Steed knew she was his best chance. He would have liked a little field experience, but he couldn't have everything. Besides, Tara's time in the field had been similarly limited when they'd met, and she'd turned out all right. No, this young woman was the answer. He flipped through and found her picture, smiled appreciatively. She was attractive, too. All the better. Beautiful women were always better at insinuating themselves into situations without suspicion. It would serve her well in her assignment, and in her meeting with her new colleague.

"Tommy," Steed murmured, pulling his friend's attention from his paperwork. "Can you have Bernice locate a phone number for me? I think I've found my missing link."

The telephone in the cottage in the country rang twice before the woman managed to reach it. Middle-aged, she was still attractive, with a mane of blonde hair, fine-boned figure, strong jaw, and bright green eyes. She wiped her floured hands on an apron before lifting the receiver.

"Salinger residence," she trilled.

"Ah, hello," a cheerful, warm voice greeted. "I'm terribly sorry to interrupt your holiday festivities, but I'm looking for a Miss Purdey Bryde. I was told I could reach her at this number."

"Purdey?" the woman repeated, brow furrowing. "Yes, she's here. Who is that?"

"Oh, I'm most terribly sorry," the voice apologized. "My name is John Steed. I'm from the Ministry. Your daughter works for our department."

The woman's face betrayed surprise and recognition at the name. "Mr. Steed," she replied, with a sort of hushed awe. "Yes, of course. I'll fetch Purdey for you right away." She put the receiver down and bustled upstairs.

In one of the bedrooms, a young woman was stood before a floor-length mirror, breathing deeply as she flexed her long, shapely legs in a perfect plie. She was clad in a figure-hugging leotard, her ankles swathed in leg-warmers. She was wearing ballet shoes, pink ones, and her long blonde hair was pinned back in a standard dancer's bun. She eased out of the plie and bent almost double, body arching down gracefully so she could touch her toes. She looked up when the older woman entered.

"There's a call for you dear," the woman told her, and the dancer regarded upside down between her legs.

"Who is it, mum?"

Her mother smiled knowingly, green eyes twinkling. "He says he's John Steed. And he asked for you personally, Purdey dear."

Purdey's mouth dropped open. "No!" she hissed straightening up so fast she almost lost her balance, then covering her mouth as though she were afraid Steed would pick up the sound from the living room via the receiver. "You're sure? The John Steed?"

"Positive. How many John Steeds do you know of?" Purdey's mother pointed out. "Now come along, dear. Don't keep him waiting."

Purdey grinned broadly. "There's something you don't have to tell me twice," she laughed, hurrying to her beside table to retrieve the phone. She composed herself before she answered, pausing to smooth her hair, despite the fact that Steed wouldn't be able to see her, and clear her throat, so that she'd sound her best when she answered. This was John Steed, and he wanted to talk to her. If she ended up sounding like some silly little girl, she'd never forgive herself.

Doing her best to keep her whole body from shaking, she slowly reached out and took the receiver, put it to her ear, and in her smoothest, surest voice, said "Hello?"

"Purdey Bryde?" The voice was warm and full of bonhomie.

"Yes," she confirmed, feeling her heart speed up. It was him! She didn't know how she knew, but it was. That voice was exactly how it had been described to her—friendly, warm, aristocratic, exuberant, not snobbish. She tapped her foot to give the pent-up energy some place to go. "Speaking. What can I do for you?"

"I'm terribly sorry to interrupt your holiday," Steed apologized, "but there's a case that's cropped up, and I require a very…specific type of assistance, which I think you may be able to provide."

"Me?" Purdey put a hand to her chest in shock. "But I haven't even finished my training!"

"I'm aware of your status," Steed assured, "but from what I've seen, you have the makings of a fine agent. You have all the skills for field work, and I'd like to offer you the chance to put them to the test a bit earlier than you may have planned."

Purdey bit her lip. This was too good to be true. John Steed was asking her, Purdey Bryde, a trainee agent, to help him, the Ministry's living legend. She swore she was dreaming, and pinched herself to confirm she was not.

Steed was still talking. "Of course, I don't expect you to accept such an assignment now, without any idea as to what you're taking on. Which is why I thought we ought to meet first and discuss it. If you can see yourself to meeting me at around ten tomorrow morning in my office, I'd be eternally grateful."

He'd be grateful? Purdey could hardly believe her ears. Steed was making out that she would be doing him a favour, not the other way around. Purdey was young and hungry, eager to put her skills into practice and prove her mettle outside of the Ministry's training grounds. What better way to cut her teeth than in the company of John Steed? She couldn't help but learn from him. She'd be the envy of her class. Never mind her vacation—this was the opportunity of a lifetime.

"Yes, I think I could manage that," Purdey said as nonchalantly as she could manage. "Your office at ten suits me fine."

"Excellent," Steed enthused. "I'll see you then. Good-bye."

"Good-bye," Purdey echoed dazedly, hanging up automatically. For a moment she stared at the wall, the rest of the world fading away around her as the events of the last few minutes sunk in. Then her face broke into a mile-wide grin, and she started to laugh. She had an appointment at ten tomorrow morning to meet with John Steed! She hugged herself excitedly and basked in the moment. How super! How fabulous!

How on earth was she going to make it until then?


	4. The Purdey Gambit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, John Steed, and Thomas McKay. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended
> 
> Timeline: First in a series. Takes place in late December, 1975, a full four months before the start of the series in April, 1976. It is strongly recommended that you go back and read the previous story in the arc, Lost Boys. Those interested in the rest of the series are, of course, invited to read the subsequent stories in the arc.
> 
> For more information about the series, please see my profile.
> 
> \-------------------------------------------------------------

Purdey made her way down the Ministry corridors, practically shivering with excitement. She still couldn't quite believe she was on her way to a meeting with John Steed. Her classmates surely wouldn't believe her when she told them in the New Year, once training had resumed. Purdey wondered idly if Steed would mind if she asked for some sort of proof…

Steed actually had a fair-sized office all to himself, just as all of the Ministry's top officials did, but the rumours Purdey had heard suggested he didn't make much use of it. He was today, though, and Purdey supposed that made sense—where else was he going to talk to her? She didn't have any place to call her own in the building aside from her locker in the gym, and she doubted even he would be forward enough to request that she meet him in his home. Purdey wasn't at all sure she'd be able to handle that. All the same, she found herself approaching even the office with trepidation. It felt rather like being summoned to the headmaster's office. She knew she wasn't in trouble, but all the same, the old roles were there—teacher and student, superior and subordinate. She took a moment to smooth her hair and skirt and take a deep breath to calm her nerves. She could do this. She was a capable, confident young woman. Just because it was John Steed on the other side of that door didn't mean she had to lose her head completely. She squared her shoulders and knocked. The warm, inviting voice from the telephone invited her to enter. Purdey turned the knob and did so.

Steed was sitting at his desk, perusing a file lying open on the surface. A quick glance told Purdey it was her personnel file, and she fought down the childish urge to blush at whatever personal details he might be reading. She focussed on Steed instead. She had never seen the man in person, only in photos in Ministry texts, and those, as she had suspected, had not been updated since the sixties, whether for vanity's sake or simply because no one had bothered, she did not know. But it was clear that the picture was about ten years out of date. She'd been expecting some signs of age, but for the most part Steed was well-preserved. Maybe a few more crow's feet around the eyes, a little general wear to the face, but still unmistakably the confident, bowler-hatted individual that had smiled congenially out at her from page 46. When he smiled at her now the eyes twinkled in the same way they had all those years ago. Immediately, Purdey relaxed. Steed looked kind, charming, dependable, and comforting, and not nearly as imposing as he could be considering his status as a living legend.

"Miss Bryde," the warm voice greeted, wrapping around her like a thick, soft blanket and easing the tension away. "So good of you to see me at such short notice. Please, have a seat." He indicated a comfortable looking leather chair seated across the desk from himself. Purdey made her way to it, paused to extend her hand.

"It was no trouble at all," she assured as he took it, and relished the sensation of the large, warm hand enveloping hers. "Really. I don't know of one of my classmates who wouldn't have jumped at the chance."

Steed chuckled. "At the risk of sounding as though I have an inordinately high opinion of myself, I believe you."

"What I still don't understand," Purdey went on, settling back into her seat, "is why you wanted to see me? I mean, there must be dozens of agents with field experience and twice as many skills."

"Don't sell yourself short, Miss Bryde," Steed replied, glancing down at her file. "On the contrary, your repertoire is very impressive. Top of your class, in fact."

Purdey flushed slightly at the praise. "Well, I do my best."

"And that's just what I need!" Steed exclaimed, closing her file. "Your best. You see, Miss Bryde, I need a capable agent I can send in undercover, one who will be able to handle herself in any situation."

Purdey shook her head. "I'm sorry. I still don't follow. I've never even been out in the field, let alone undercover. Don't think I'm not grateful for this opportunity, but there must be someone more qualified."

Steed sucked his cheek as he pondered his next words, and how to say what he was about to without offending. "Technically, what you say is true," he said carefully, and Purdey looked slightly taken aback. "There are many, many agents qualified for undercover work. But you see, Miss Bryde, this particular assignment requires that an agent possess a very special quality." He leaned forward conspiratorially. "It requires a woman."

Purdey blinked. "That's why I'm here?" she queried, a little acerbically, even if she was talking to Steed. "Because I'm the best the Ministry has to offer on the skirt front?"

"Please don't take offense," Steed soothed. "Rest assured I wouldn't have called you in if I didn't feel you were qualified. But yes, the sad fact is that most of the Ministry's finest consists of men, and we're no longer allowed to source outside aid."

"Such as Mrs. Peel?" Purdey offered crisply. All of her male classmates were in love with Emma Peel, and that was reason enough for Purdey to hate her. The woman just seemed too accomplished and multitalented to be real. No woman could encompass all of those enviable qualities into one package, although Purdey thought she didn't do a bad job herself. For the most part she settled for not bringing Emma up in conversation, but Steed had obviously been alluding to her, and she couldn't help herself.

"Yes," Steed admitted, looking a little pinched at the mention of the name. "Like Mrs. Gale and David Keel before her. I won't deny that the Ministry's new regulations have limited the pool of talent, but from what your instructors have to say, I'd be glad to work with you whatever the circumstances."

"Work together? The two of us?" Purdey exclaimed excitedly, all annoyance pushed aside at this new, exciting offer. She hadn't certainly been expecting this. She'd assumed Steed would send her off on some assignment and only have her check in occasionally as required, the way he did with his veritable stable—pun intended—of agents. But Steed was making out that they would be cheek to cheek, working closely on the case together. Just as he had with Emma Peel. It was a tantalizing prospect for the young trainee.

"The three of us, actually," Steed corrected, and Purdey arched an eyebrow in interest, wondering who else was going to be invited the party, and how much he or she would intrude on her own time with Steed. "Are you familiar with Mike Gambit?"

Purdey snorted with derision at the name. "Only be reputation," she said disdainfully. "And that's more than enough. A bit too interested in the typing pool—or anything else in a skirt, from what I've heard. Not too keen on partners. He likes to run things on his own. He got himself shot going over the Berlin Wall recently. A risk-taker. Maybe even reckless."

"Yes," Steed agreed levelly. "He's also a very fine agent. One of the best, in fact. I expect great things from him."

Purdey shrank in her chair, suddenly chastened. Even if that was her opinion, it was probably bad form to bad mouth a fellow agent to his superior, and Purdey knew that Gambit was under Steed's command. She kicked herself mentally for letting her mouth run ahead of her brain. It happened on occasion, and had been known to get her in trouble. "Oh, no. I didn't mean…"

"No need to apologise," Steed assured, with another of those warm smiles. "I asked what you knew, and you told me. Just keep in mind that not everything you hear in the gym or the break room is true." He paused, then added, "Including what they say about me."

"Now that would be a shame," Purdey said with a coy smile. "Because I've heard some very interesting things about you."

Steed met her eyes and Purdey felt herself shiver a little. They were grey, and there was something beyond friendliness in them now. "As delighted as I'd be to have you recount some of them, there is an assignment that begs our immediate attention. Gambit and I are investigating a pair of rather unusual murders. At least, we think they're murders. The cause of death is rather difficult to determine. I won't go into any more detail until I'm certain you want to accept this assignment, but we have reason to believe that a third murder, that of an agent, is somehow connected. The common link is Edward Wollerton." Steed produced a photograph from beneath Purdey's file and slid it across his desk toward her. "Are you familiar with him?"

Purdey took the picture and studied it, even though she recognized the name. "He's an electronics and computer mogul, isn't he?"

Steed smiled, clearly pleased that she was so well-informed. "That's right. He's been on the front line in making electronics smaller, more efficient. Fingers in a lot of pies—cybernetics, engineering, computers."

"And you think he's using his powers for evil rather than good?" Purdey deduced, setting the photograph back on the desk.

"We don't think much of anything at the moment, other than that the last agent who went looking for anything out of the ordinary died, in much the same way that two other men met their fates, one only two days ago." Steed laced his fingers, looked at Purdey quite seriously. "The last man to even touch on investigating Wollerton died. We think he may have been murdered because of his inquiries. The reason I wanted a woman for this assignment was the simple fact that a woman is less likely to be suspected as a spy. Our man was undercover, and if Wollerton did have him killed, they'll be on the lookout for other eyes. I've made some inquiries, and Wollerton's assistant personal secretary has abandoned him over the holidays. He called into an agency for a temporary replacement yesterday, and they're having difficulty accommodating him."

"And that's where I come in," Purdey said knowingly. "What do you want me to do?"

"Keep your eyes open," Steed said simply. "Particularly for anything that could be used as a weapon. Suspicious goings-on. Secretive staff meetings."

"Almost anything, then?" Purdey said wryly.

Steed smirked. "We're casting the net wide, I admit, but we only have the faintest inkling that there even is something going on. I wish I could be more specific. I'll give you the file and you can draw your own conclusions."

"Assuming I accept," Purdey pointed out. "I haven't yet."

Steed arched an eyebrow. "Do you think it's likely you'll decline?" He looked mildly concerned.

Purdey crossed her legs, enjoying having the upper hand for the moment. She had a feeling it didn't happen with Steed often.

"You honestly think I'm the agent for the job?" she wanted to know. "Beyond the convenience of my sex?"

Steed relaxed a little. "Absolutely. This will be an opportunity for you to put theory into practice before you complete your final tests. A rare occurrence for a trainee."

"It is," Purdey agreed. She wasn't really considering it anymore—she knew she wanted to do it. The chance to be in the field. The chance to work with Steed. Who in her right mind would turn it down? There was only one unknown variable. "Do you think I'll be able to get on with Gambit?" she said inquired.

Steed grinned. "I think Gambit will be able to get on with you."

Purdey wasn't quite sure what the difference was, but she didn't think Steed would tell even if she asked. But she did detect a hint of the innuendo, and decided to put a stop to that. "Well, he certainly won't be 'getting' any more than a colleague. I have no intention of becoming just another one of his conquests."

Steed's smile broadened. "Yes, I see from your file that you're well-liked among your classmates and yet manage to keep them at arm's length." The grey eyes gazed at her meaningfully. "Except for a recent liaison with George Stannard."

Purdey flushed for real this time. "It wasn't as serious as people like to make out." She jutted her chin out defiantly. "Anyway, it's not anyone's business. Speaking of not believing everything you hear…"

"No offense intended." Steed surrendered, holding his hands up protectively. "Not another word about it. I'm sure Gambit will respect your boundaries."

"He'd better, if he doesn't want his back broken in three places," Purdey warned, with an underlying fierceness that made it clear she was not to be trifled with. "And he should know that if we're going to work together I plan to do just that—work, and speak my mind when the situation calls for it, even if his ego doesn't like it."

"I think you'll be surprised how well you and Gambit get along," Steed said with a smile. "As I said, he's a very good agent. I think you'll each have something to teach the other. And if you do have any problems with him, I'll ensure that he resolves them. Quickly."

Purdey nodded, satisfied that Steed wasn't going to leave her stranded with an out-of-control, trigger-happy scoundrel who couldn't keep his hands to himself. "All right, then," she conceded. "I accept. I'll be happy to join your team."

"Excellent!" Steed enthused, reaching out to shake her hand. "Welcome aboard, Miss Bryde."

Purdey shook it, but decided to take the opportunity to correct the niggling issue of address that had been lurking at the back of her mind throughout the meeting.

"Purdey, please," she requested. "No 'miss.' Just Purdey."

Steed's eyebrow sprang up again. "Purdey? You go on a first name basis?"

"It's not that I want people to use my first name so much as to not use my last," Purdey explained, a thin smile on her lips.

"I see," said Steed, even though he clearly didn't. "A bit unusual. Very well, Purdey. I'll do my best to use your Christian name, though I warn you old habits are hard to break. You can call me Steed. No need to stand on ceremony. None of my colleagues have used 'Mr.' for years."

"Steed," Purdey repeated, and suppressed another delighted shiver. She was Steed's partner, at least for the moment. It seemed too good to be true.

Steed was scribbling something on a form. "I'm going to submit a leave of absence from for your instructors. We wouldn't want your scores to be jeopardized on our account. I'll be working as part of the team, but officially I'm only an overseer. Supervisor. Officially, Gambit will be your partner in conducting this investigation." He started to fill in the correct box. "Bryde and Gambit." He frowned, paused, looked up at Purdey and flashed an apologetic smile. "I beg your pardon. Purdey and Gambit." He amended the form, looked it over with approval. "Yes. Has rather a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

Purdey eyed him suspiciously. "Well, it's not as though it's going to be permanent, is it? I mean, this arrangement only holds for one assignment, does it not?"

Steed was suddenly serious. "Of course," he said earnestly. "Just the one. Now if you'll just sign here…" He indicated a place on the form. Purdey picked up the pen and looked at Gambit's name. There was no going back now. She'd have to deal with him when she met him. Perhaps she could even make a few changes for the better. Heaven knew the man could probably use them. She signed.

"Thank you," Steed said, taking the form back and admiring his handiwork. "Good. I'll have this processed immediately." He handed her a dossier. "Familiarise yourself with the case. I'll see you back here in an hour and the three of us will have a proper planning session."

Purdey nodded and rose. A sudden thought occurred to her.

"Does Gambit even know I'm going to be working with him?"

"He will soon," Steed revealed, looking inordinately pleased with himself.

Purdey frowned. "Isn't that a little presumptuous? Shouldn't he have some say in the matter? It's not fair to just spring me on him."

"One of the few things I've found I enjoy about seniority," Steed told her, "is the occasional lack of a need to be fair when dealing with subordinates. Gambit will know soon enough."

"But he'll hold it against me if I just show up!" Purdey countered. "How are we meant to work together after that?"

"He'll adjust," Steed said simply. "Gambit's a big boy. And as I said, if he persists in being difficult, let me know, and I'll attend to it. But as I said, I think you'll be surprised just how well the team of Purdey and Gambit gets on. Now, if you don't mind, I've another appointment to keep." He guided Purdey out the door into the corridor. She spun around, mouth open to protest, but Steed simply smiled.

"Welcome to the team," he said cheerily, and closed the door. Purdey was left gaping, mouth open, one finger raised in protest. She dropped her arm resignedly and sighed, started back down the corridor. There was nothing for it, now. She was going to have to learn to live with Mike Gambit, and hope he did the same with her.

Oh well, she mused to herself, looking for straws of comfort. At least it's not for very long.

Mike Gambit wandered into John Steed's office in a good mood. He'd had a nice long sleep, a leisurely breakfast, gotten a little morning exercise in, and was generally feeling bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Even his earlier annoyance with Steed had faded. He felt so good he wandered in with only the briefest of knocks and deposited himself in one of Steed's leather chairs, crossing his ankles and letting his long legs stretch out before him. Steed looked up from his file and smiled conspiratorially at the young agent.

"Gambit," he greeted cheerfully. "Have you recovered from your flight yesterday?"

"I'm feeling reasonably human, so I'll say 'yes,'" Gambit confirmed, putting his hands in his lap and lacing his fingers. "Anyway, I'm ready to tackle Wollerton. Did you have any breakthroughs after I'd gone home?"

"I did as it happens," Steed said mildly. "We need someone on the inside."

Gambit snorted. "Not exactly revolutionary. That's what Travers' job was, and look where he ended up. I thought we decided there was no way we could sneak a man in without having him spotted."

"We did," Steed agreed, rising to his feet and leaning over the desk, eyes twinkling wickedly. "But it wasn't a man I had in mind."

Gambit felt his heart stop. He knew that look. Steed was up to something. And when he didn't come right out and say what it was, it usually meant you weren't going to like it.

"Steed…" he began, carefully, eyes searching his face for some sign as to what he was up to. "You're contradicting yourself. If we don't send a man in…" Gambit froze, the words dying on his lips. If not a man, then… "Oh no," he breathed, then sat up straighter in his chair. "No, you didn't. Please tell me you didn't find a girl willing to sneak around Wollerton's office and spy for us."

Steed's smile broadened. "Well, it was rather difficult, but in the end—"

"I knew it," Gambit exclaimed, flinging himself out of his chair and pacing up the length of the office. "There's always a catch. You always have to do something clever, don't you? Is this your way of punishing me for-?" He let the sentence hang. No, better not to go there. Even Gambit knew his limits. Aside from Berlin, there had been an incident at Steed's Christmas party just before Gambit had departed for Canada. Or non-incident, more like, but Gambit knew what he'd done, and what Steed had seen, and he knew that the senior agent was unlikely to be pleased with him for it. Gambit didn't regret it, not really, but he knew the thing to do would be to assuage Steed's fears. But when he pulled stunts like this, Gambit felt less guilty about it. Two could play at this game.

"We need a woman for this assignment," Steed said after a moment, calmly, when a sufficient amount of time had passed that it was unlikely they'd say anything they'd regret. "That's all. You said yourself that Wollerton and his people will be on the alert for an agent in their midst. A woman is less likely to raise suspicion. I made some inquiries and discovered that Wollerton is in need of an extra secretary over the hectic holiday season. One of his own took her vacation, and refuses to come back. Apparently he's less-than-pleasurable to work for." He walked round the desk to where Gambit stood, rubbing his face irritably. "If you have a better idea, you're welcome to share it."

Gambit scowled at him, a look of pure poison. "You know I don't. But this goes against everything we agreed. You promised me that I'd work with you, not anyone else. The whole reason I joined your damn 'stable' was because you promised me I wouldn't need to have another partner."

"And I haven't broken that promise," Steed argued. "I didn't say she was going to be permanent. These are special circumstances. I can't send you in. I don't know about you, but I don't think your shorthand will pass muster." He regarded Gambit's sour expression and sighed. "She'll play her role, just for this one assignment. Then she'll go back to her life. But I can't see the harm in having someone else to keep an eye on you—sober second thought."

Gambit snorted. "You want the Canadian Senate following me around? I thought that was your job?" He saw Steed's bemused look and elaborated. "The girl that met me on Parliament Hill in Canada—she gave me a bit of a tour, red chamber included."

Steed smiled a little, knowing that a different chamber entirely was likely the next stop on the tour. "It can't hurt, to have some back-up, particularly after you took those three bullets over the wall. Someone needs to look out for you. I can't be there all the time."

"Could've fooled me," Gambit muttered. "What's this girl's name, anyway?"

"Purdey Bryde," Steed informed.

Gambit thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Never heard of her. Which class is she?"

"1976," Steed revealed, and caught Gambit's incredulous look. "Yes, she's a trainee, but she's due to pass her tests early next year, and she's incredibly talented. Passing all her courses with flying colours. I think you'll be quite pleased with her." He eyed Gambit meaningfully, trying to appeal to the younger man's known weaknesses.

"Oh, no," Gambit said knowingly, shaking a reproving finger at his boss. "I don't care if she's Marilyn Monroe with a degree in combat. You're not getting me that easily. She does her bit, and then she leaves. Right?"

Steed widened his eyes in mock alarm. "You don't object to working with women, do you?"

"Of course I don't!" Gambit countered. "I love women. If you ever need a fresh insight, another take, go to the opposite sex. You remember Sara? I've asked her advice loads of times."

Steed recalled Gambit's cousin, the woman who had put Gambit on to the Ministry to begin with. Mike did have a point—he'd relied on the girl a great deal whilst he put his life back together after…well, certain events that Steed knew he was lucky to be privy to. He felt a wave of guilt as he recalled that the confiding of those events to Steed had brought Gambit round to working with him. Had made Mike trust him. And now he was betraying that trust to a certain extent, going behind his back and setting him up with Purdey, even if he thought it would do him good.

"Well then, I think you and Purdey will get along, as well. She's really very talented." He went back to his desk, found Purdey's file, returned to Gambit and handed it over. "Have a look at her scores."

Gambit took the dossier grudgingly, opened it and skimmed the contents. His eyebrows climbed in admiration.

"She is good," he admitted, then saw Steed's pleased expression and flipped it closed. "But that's in the classroom. It's a totally different environment out there. You'd better not be putting her life on the line. If she's not ready for fieldwork…"

"She is," Steed asserted confidently. "She only needs a chance to prove it. And even if she does get herself into a spot of trouble, you'll be there to help her out of it again."

"I thought she was meant to be supervising me?" Gambit said wryly, arching an eyebrow. "But you're right. I'm not going to let anything happen to her just because you want to prove a point. Poor Purdey—" He consulted the file to remind himself of the girl's last name. He'd missed it after hearing her Christian name; it had been so unusual for a girl. "Purdey Bryde. What did she do to deserve being saddled with us?"

"A 96% on her first run through the target range," Steed reminded.

Gambit ignored him. "Purdey," he repeated, tapping the file thoughtfully. "That's quite the name for a girl. Was her father a shotgun fanatic?"

Steed smirked. "You'll have to ask her when she arrives. She's due any minute."

Gambit's head snapped up in surprise. "What, now? You've got her coming now?"

"We haven't any time to waste," Steed said seriously, brow furrowed. "Anyway, no time like the present."

Gambit shot Steed another look, and walked over to deposit Purdey's file on his desk. He wandered off to the opposite end of the office, away from the door. "Pity. She just missed my good mood by about ten minutes."

"I'm sure she'll cope," Steed said with practiced unconcern.

"What can you tell me about her?" Gambit hated to admit it, but he was curious now. There was no way of getting out of this, so he decided he may as well gather as much intel as he could.

"Oh, just what you've seen in the file. And that she's bright. Enthusiastic. Energetic."

"Did you tell her about me at all?" Gambit asked carefully.

Steed smirked again. "I told her that despite her perceptions, you were a good agent."

"Perceptions?" Gambit repeated, screwing his face up in annoyance. "Oh, brilliant. She probably thinks I'm some sort of—"

"Ah," Steed interrupted, turning to the door. "Here she is."

Gambit turned to look at the figure stepping through the doorway. He hadn't been entirely certain what to expect from this new girl, but he definitely hadn't anticipated the overpowering sense of familiarity.

I know you.

He didn't, though. He was sure of it. He'd never seen the girl before in his life. He would have remembered, too, because she was beautiful. Tall, slim, shapely, endless legs. Her figure was made up of fine bones, but together they added up to something sleek and graceful, not fragile. On the contrary, there was an inner strength there, a core of reserves to be drawn upon. The jaw was cut wickedly sharp, the mouth full and sensuous, and the bright blue eyes were inordinately large. Those same eyes had humour behind them, and Gambit didn't fail to notice a sharp glimmer of intelligence. Smart as a whip. Bright. Incisive. She'd have to be to get as far as she had. She wore it proudly, but not in an uppity way. He could tell from her bearing that she wouldn't suffer fools gladly, but also that she didn't need to constantly remind you of her credentials to keep her ego inflated. She was blonde, her long hair falling over her shoulders in gentle waves. She moved with grace and confidence, each foot placed with elegant sureness. She was clad in the standard white blouse and black skirt issued to all female Ministry trainees. Gambit didn't mix with the trainee agents at all, so he certainly couldn't have met her. But there was something about her, something undeniable. She was different. She was important. She was…something. He didn't know quite what, but she was making his heart beat faster. He'd never met a girl who'd captured his attention quite and held it quite so quickly.

The fantastic creature was approaching him, bright blue eyes clearly giving him a once-over just the way he was her. Gambit only hoped the impression he was making was half as favourable. He definitely wanted to get to know her better. The man of the world in him was urging him to turn on the charm, but something about the girl's demeanour told him she would find the 'smooth operator' approach less-than-enticing. As he'd already put her down as one who wouldn't suffer fools gladly, he didn't want to give her a reason to classify him as one before they had a chance to get better acquainted.

She was agonisingly close now. Even with the heels, he still had a good three or four inches over her. He liked tall girls, and she fit the bill, but there was something about having a gap between them. She looked as though she could fit her head under his chin quite easily. And in his arms. He needed a chance to find out. He took a deep breath and smelt her perfume. It was familiar, too, but his brain still failed to place it. He quit trying to remember her, and focussed on meeting her instead.

Purdey, meanwhile, like Gambit, had been unsure of what to expect when she entered the office. She'd asked around after Steed had told her there would be three on the team. All her previous intel on Gambit had painted her a picture that she wasn't entirely certain she was going to like. A loner. Reckless. Womanizer. Brash. But today, gathering opinions from his fellow agents, and some of the more desirable members of the typing pool, she'd heard a few things that didn't quite jive with those descriptors. Loyal. Good agent, but damaged. Always good for pint at the pub. And, from the women who had gone beyond coffee and a chat with him, fun. Energetic. Lots of humour. Knew how to treat a woman. And never let one girl overlap with another. Apparently Mike Gambit knew how to exercise restraint. Or not bite off more than he could chew.

By the end of her allotted hour she wasn't entirely certain that there weren't two Mike Gambits running around the Ministry corridors: the good, honourable agent, and the difficult scoundrel. She wondered which one she'd see when she walked inside.

She took a deep breath and rounded the corner, stepping inside Steed's inner sanctum. And there he was.

She wasn't entirely certain how she'd imagined he'd look, but none of her mental images had quite added up to this. She'd never bothered to ask anyone what Gambit actually looked like, but she'd assumed he'd be attractive, maybe in a brash, over-confident, bruiser sort of way. She was right on one count. He was attractive.

But she hadn't expected him to be quite so slim. Not skinny, not husky. Just slim, shapely almost. The sort of man who could wear a well-cut suit, and actually take advantage of all the tailoring. Strong shoulders, slim hips, long legs, all in tip-toe condition. Purdey was a dancer by nature, and she knew an athlete when she saw one. Gambit's suit outed him as someone who, like her, started his morning with more than a few stretches. Purdey was appreciative, but also relieved. She could run, and if she was going to have a partner, she needed someone able to keep up with her. He was tall, too, probably around the same height as Steed. Purdey had never gone exclusively for tall men, but she didn't mind them, either.

Gone for? When had she started eyeing him up as a prospect? When had she even fallen into that line of thought? Well, she did know—the face. Longer, a mouth with a bowed top lip, eyebrows that kinked endearingly in a way that lent humour to his features. Strong cheekbones, a bump in the nose. Broken, likely, somewhere along the way. Maybe more than once. Jet black hair, curly despite clearly being brushed and parted that morning. A good strong face, handsome, but not unkind; confident, but not without humour. He didn't look like a bad sort at all, really. In fact, he looked a bit shell-shocked, eyeing her up much the way she was him. She could definitely see what all the Ministry women had gone for. She could see herself going for it herself, if she hadn't made a mental vow to never cross that line. Not with another agent, especially not one she was going to be working with, even temporarily. That meant no Steed, no matter how charming or enticing the prospect. And definitely not Mike Gambit. Not with his track record. She didn't care how charming he was at dinner. Or how funny he was over drinks. Or how deliciously that top lip bowed…

"Ah, Purdey." Steed's voice shattered her line of thought, and she felt herself let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She turned to Steed gratefully, glad for the distraction. The senior agent was smiling beatifically at her, extending one arm to usher her closer to where Gambit stood. "I'd like you to meet our third party. This is Mike Gambit." He turned to Gambit, hit him with a warning glance intended to remind him to behave, but Gambit knew his boss had no cause for worry. There was no way he was going to snub the beautiful woman who had just walked into his life. "Gambit," Steed went on, seeing, with more than a little pleasure, that Gambit was suddenly very keen on the idea of his new partner. "This is Purdey Bryde. She'll be assisting us with this assignment."

"Miss Bryde." His voice wasn't quite she'd been expecting, either. Lower in register, betraying the slightest trace of an accent. Cockney? Purdey felt an eyebrow raise ever so slightly. Well, Mike Gambit hadn't been born into that suit, but he sure as hell had made it his own. "It's a pleasure. I've heard nothing but good things about you." His eyes flicked meaningfully to Steed, and he grinned a little. Purdey found herself returning it automatically. It was an infectious grin, a little bit…naughty. He extended a hand. She shook it.

"As have I, Mr. Gambit," she replied, and Gambit chuckled a little. Purdey regarded him with mild bemusement. Her voice was clear and crisp, the accent posh and best described as 'cut glass.' Gambit felt another twinge of familiarity at the tones. They were lovely and enchanting, but why did he feel as though he'd heard them before, however briefly? He noticed Purdey was still looking at him oddly, and realized he should leave the thinking for later. It was making for awkward pauses.

"Sorry," Gambit explained, clearing his throat. "It's just that I, uh, got the idea that your impression of me was….less than favourable?" One of the fantastic eyebrows canted upward. "But don't worry. I'm the first to admit I'm not a saint."

Purdey got over her initial surprise at this forthrightness, composed herself. "Well, then, we already have one thing in common, Mr. Gambit. I hope we work well together."

"Yes." The voice dropped a little on the single word, almost husky. The eyes were an unusual sort of blue-green, and switched between the two depending on how the light hit them. There was humour dancing there, a cheeky twinkle that wouldn't have looked out of place on a schoolboy. And yet, there was something else there, tucked away at the back. A sadness, or…a haunting? Damaged. That's what the others had said. No one knew quite why or how, but there was definitely something in Gambit's past. Something that had marked him. She wondered what it was, and if he had ever told anyone about it.

"Well, I'm definitely very interested in seeing what you can do, Miss Bryde. In the field, and out of it." His eyes were sending another message now, loud and clear.

Purdey withdrew her hand from his warm grasp. There it was. The pass. She didn't know why she was surprised, why she thought he was going to be any different. She put on her prim face. "As am I, Mr. Gambit. And please, I like to be known as Purdey. Just Purdey."

"Mike," Gambit replied without missing a beat. "No need to stand on formality."

"If it's all the same to you," Purdey replied. "I would like to, Mr. Gambit."

"Anything you say, Miss Bryde."

Purdey narrowed her eyes at him, but he simply waggled his eyebrows at her infuriatingly. She was about to give him a piece of her mind, but Steed stepped in before she could conjure up a satisfactory reply.

"Right. Now that you've been introduced, we can get down to business." Purdey shot a look at Gambit, but he had already turned his attention to Steed. She did the same, reluctantly, crossing her arms in the process. "Now then, Purdey. I'd like you to familiarize yourself with your backstory. I doubt Wollerton will care terribly about your secretary training. He'll likely assume that you're competent if you've been sent from the agency, but you can never be too careful. And make certain that you're familiar with his business. Know his dealings backwards and forwards. We still don't know quite what we're looking for, so you'll need to keep your eyes and ears open for anything that could produce a lead."

Purdey nodded once, briskly. "I understand." Steed went to his desk and returned with a thin stack of files.

"That should keep you busy for the remainder of the day. I'd like you to drop by my home before you go in for your first day of work tomorrow morning. This is the address." He handed Purdey a card to go with the files. "It's in the country. Gambit can give you directions if you have difficulty locating it. And speaking of Gambit." He turned his attention to the younger man. "While Purdey does her homework, I want you to dig up anything and everything on Wollerton, the man. Full background check on him and anyone he's associated with in the past decade. If Wollerton's as canny as I suspect, it's unlikely he'll incriminate himself, so we may need to find someone to do it for him. Put all those connections in Files to good use, including in Button Lip downstairs."

Gambit raised an eyebrow. "You really do want the goods, don't you?" he mused, tongue venturing into his cheek briefly. "I'll see what I can do."

Steed smiled knowingly. He knew what Gambit could do, particularly in regards to the more attractive file clerks, and especially in the case of Cynthia Wentworth-Howe, the head of Button Lip, the most secret of the Ministry's archives. Despite her reputation as a tough nut, and Steed's own experiences with her, Gambit never had any trouble getting under her skin—and into the filing cabinets.

"Well, then, that ought to keep the pair of you occupied. I'll be making my own inquiries. Any questions and you can come and see me. All right?"

Purdey nodded again, shuffled the files. "Sounds straightforward enough. I'll go practice my shorthand."

Steed smirked. "An excellent idea. Gambit's is atrocious."

Gambit pulled a face, and Purdey allowed herself a satisfying chuckle at his discomfort. She was liking Steed more all the time. He clearly knew how to keep Gambit in line. She had nothing to fear on that front.

"I'll see you later, Mr. Gambit," she murmured, and turning on her heel, strode out of the office. Gambit watched her go, jaw working gently. Steed came to stand beside him, asked the inevitable question.

"Well? Any thoughts?"

Gambit shook his head slightly, let out a long breath. "She's…something. You've piqued my interested, I'll give you that much." He paused, and Steed could see there was something like uncertainty behind the blue-green eyes. "She…we haven't met before, have we?"

Steed frowned. "Not that I recall, no. I suppose it's possible. She has been around since the beginning of the year, but only in training courses. I doubt the pair of you have crossed paths." He looked at Gambit with sudden suspicion. "You haven't…?"

Gambit turned to look at him with mild annoyance. "Of course not. I never forget a girl. Which is why it's so strange…I can't place her, and I could swear I've never seen her before, but still…" He sighed and shrugged. "It's probably nothing. Déjà vu. Look, are we finished here? I'd like to, uh…" He knew Steed knew he wanted to follow Purdey, and he also knew that Steed had expected as much, but it still bothered him that he was that predictable in the senior agent's eyes. He could already see that look of smug satisfaction, and it was making him testy. He swallowed his annoyance and decided to spin it a different way. "Well, if we're going to be working together, I really should get to know her a bit better. Maybe I ought to help her with her with her files."

"If she'll let you," Steed pointed out. "By all means, go. I thought you'd be more open to her once you met. She's very bright and very promising. I don't think you'll have any problems."

Not with her legs at any rate. To Steed, he said, "This doesn't change anything. All right, so I don't hate her. That's not the point. I still don't want another partner. This is temporary."

"Of course," Steed agreed with a straight face. "I made that very clear. She's only here because we need a woman. I wouldn't dream of taking her on without your saying so." He went to his desk and took a seat, opened a folder. "Now that we've got that out of the way, don't you need to catch someone up?"

"I'll see you later," Gambit replied, exiting the office. He'd meant what he said—he wasn't going to be taking on another partner so soon after the first, no matter how well Steed had baited his trap with the gorgeous Purdey Bryde. But that didn't mean he couldn't admire her figure in the meantime. Or her legs.

And if she wasn't going to be around for long, he wanted to take every opportunity to enjoy them. He grinned and quickened his pace. There were perks to this job after all.


	5. Getting to Grips

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, John Steed, and Thomas McKay. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended
> 
> Timeline: First in a series. Takes place in late December, 1975, a full four months before the start of the series in April, 1976. It is strongly recommended that you go back and read the previous story in the arc, Lost Boys. Those interested in the rest of the series are, of course, invited to read the subsequent stories in the arc.
> 
> For more information about the series, please see my profile.
> 
> \------------------------------------------------------

Purdey ran her index finger along the spines of the dossiers, brought it to a stop atop the one she desired. She checked the slip of paper with the reference number Finder had given her, ensured the series of numbers and dashes matched up. She gave the file a sharp tug, loosing it from its moorings while resting a steadying hand on the dossiers to the left, lest she take the whole shelf with her.

It was a heavy package, weighted down with a small forest's worth of sheets. Purdey tucked it under her arm, and glanced casually at the gap it had left in the shelf. She took a step back in surprise. The gap had been filled with a pair of eyes, now fixed upon her. They were soon joined by a nose and a pair of lips as Mike Gambit straightened up ever-so-slightly from the other side of the shelf. Purdey pursed her lips and put on her best 'We are not amused' expression. "Oh, hello," she said, with as much formality as she could manage.

"Hello," Gambit replied jauntily, eyeing up her burden through the gap. "Doing some research?"

Purdey didn't see the harm in answering. He wasn't going to be able to do much with a shelf between them, after all. "Yes," she confirmed briskly. "On Wollerton. I know Steed gave me his file, but I thought a little extra background wouldn't go amiss before I take up my post."

Gambit grinned infuriatingly. "Ah, you're a keener."

Purdey stiffened at the words. "I only want to do a good job first time out," she snapped, as though daring him to contradict. "There's nothing wrong with that."

"Never said there was," Gambit assured. "In fact, I just pulled Wollerton's business files and known associates, and run that background check. I was going to give them a look over lunch, but you're welcome to them first."

Purdey narrowed her eyes. "In exchange for what?" she asked suspiciously.

Gambit actually looked hurt surprisingly enough. "Nothing, Miss Bryde. Just thought I'd offer."

Purdey ground her teeth at the mention of the surname. "I told you," she said tersely. "It's Purdey. Just Purdey."

Gambit stuck a hand through the gap. "Call me Mike," he offered, for the second time in as many hours.

Purdey arched her eyebrow at the hand. "Not until I'm fully aware as to all the consequences that come with it, Mr. Gambit."

Gambit sighed and withdrew. "Such as?"

Purdey snorted. "You should know. If it weren't for Steed, you'd be fodder for half the rumour mill."

Gambit frowned. "Only half?"

"I see your ego's thriving regardless," Purdey observed, starting down the aisle between shelves.

"You shouldn't believe everything you hear," Gambit chastised gently, keeping pace with her on the other side of the barrier.

Purdey laughed mirthlessly. "Oh? What about this: I've heard, in no uncertain terms, that Mike Gambit is not in the market for a partner."

Gambit looked heavenward. She would have to latch onto that one. His only hope was that he could dissuade her before she took it to heart.

"Never said that," he contradicted. "I just like my independence."

"And I'm infringing on it," Purdey retorted, picking up her pace. Maybe she could beat Gambit to the end and get out of the room before he did. She didn't like the way she'd reacted to him when she'd first laid eyes on him, and she was liking the way he was matching her point for point even less. The last thing she needed now was to start fancying another colleague. Steed was more than enough.

Gambit was too fast, though. He made it to the end of his shelf just as she did, neck and neck, and stood in her path. She knew, somehow, that if she kept walking he wouldn't stop her. But something made her stay put.

"You can infringe all you like," he told her earnestly. "And not for the reason you think."

Purdey shook her head in disbelief. "I'm not an idiot, Mr. Gambit. I know you don't want me here. But Steed does, and you need a woman for this assignment. All you have to do is put up with me for a week or so, and then I'll go back to training and you can go back to doing things all on your own. Until then, you don't have to pretend to like me. And I certainly don't need your help. I'm more than capable of handling things myself."

"I don't doubt you can," Gambit agreed, "but I don't mind. Here. Take a look at these first. You can hand them over to me whenever you're finished." He handed her his own files and gave them a friendly pat. Then he turned on his heel and headed toward the door, turned just as he reached it. "But you're wrong, you know."

Purdey frowned. "What?"

"About not wanting you," Gambit clarified, smile tugging at his lips. "I think that's fairly obvious. And as for working together…well, I'm looking forward to it."

With that, he was gone, and, in spite of herself, Purdey found herself grinning at his retreating back. It was going to be hard to hate Mike Gambit.

At half past one, Purdey found herself at the Ministry's outdoor shooting range, a rather expansive field with an array of bullseye targets lined up at one end, a remote area where no one would be disturbed by the sound of gun shot, and only a twenty minute drive from the Ministry building itself. Purdey parked among the clutch of vehicles arranged in the gravel turnaround, and heard a shot the minute she opened her car door. She stepped out onto the gravel, making sure to bring the files that were the purpose of her visit with her. She closed the door and strode effortlessly across the ball-bearing surface in her heels. After long years practicing ballet, Purdey Bryde was not one to lose her balance easily. She was soon on the grass, treading carefully to avoid letting her heels sink into the not-completely-frozen sod. She set her sights on the line of men taking their frustrations out on the targets, braving the crisp December air to ensure that their trigger fingers hadn't atrophied over Christmas. Purdey scanned the row, immediately picking out the slim silhouette that could only be Mike Gambit. She wondered idly, as she made her way toward him, if the fact that she picked him out so easily after having only seen him twice was a testament to her powers of observation, or her rapid development of a rather annoying weakness for the roguish agent. Regardless, it wasn't going to go away by avoiding him, and Purdey quickened her pace. She had other things to do. The sooner she got this over with, the better.

All the same, she hung back a little when she neared Gambit, let him finish his clip. He lowered his gun and studied the cluster of neat holes around the centre of the target with satisfaction. It was only when he looked to his left to say something to the man beside him that he noticed Purdey, blue top coat fluttering the slight breeze, highlighting her eyes. He grinned with pleasure, indicated for her to join him.

"Miss Bryde," he enthused when she was within hearing range. "I didn't expect to see you here. Did you miss me already?"

"Hardly," Purdey said, with a slight shake of her head at his hubris, even if it was half in jest. She held out the files. "I've taken all I can from these. I'm here to return them."

"Oh." Gambit's disappointment was obvious as he took the dossiers from her. "And here I thought you wanted to see me. Or at least get your hands my weapon." He waggled his eyebrows at her as he twirled the Smith and Wesson jauntily before returning it to his shoulder holster, and Purdey groaned.

"If all your jokes are that bad, Mr. Gambit, I'm afraid I don't see much of a future for us."

"You'll get used to them," Gambit said with a grin, then turned to look back at the target. "Not bad, eh?"

Purdey followed his gaze obligingly, reaching a hand up to shade her eyes from the pale winter glare. "Yes," she had to agree. "Very impressive."

"I've heard you're not a bad shot yourself," Gambit went on conversationally, turning back to Purdey. "I saw your last target range scores in your file. Some of your results are unbelievable for a trainee."

"Just for a trainee?" Purdey countered, one eyebrow canting upwards. "I'd say they were very good, period."

"I'm sure they are," Gambit said with unconcern. "But it's not really a fair comparison. I've been shooting for years, and it shows." He nodded at the target, which bore a neat dead centre. "The best you could do would be a tie, but I wouldn't expect that much from you this soon."

"No?" Purdey was starting to get annoyed. "Tell me, is that down to my womanly weakness?"

Gambit snorted. "Sex has nothing to do with it. I've seen women do some pretty damned impressive things. No, it's all down to experience, nothing more. But that's what you don't have yet. Experience."

"I see." Purdey had to admit the viewpoint was rather refreshing, even if he wasn't giving her the benefit of the doubt just now. But that could be fixed easily enough…

"Well, I may not be the best shot. Yet," she allowed, stepping in close. "But I have quite a few other assets."

"I don't doubt that," Gambit said with a grin, eyes dancing.

"I'm glad to hear it," Purdey murmured, reaching out to run a hand down his lapel. "But all the same, you won't really know what I'm capable of until you get to know me. Really know me."

"And I have no objection to that, I promise you." Gambit felt Purdey's hand drift over his chest, and resisted the urge to close his eyes and savour it. Her fingers felt so wonderful, so light, tracing patterns down his torso, especially when combined with her scent wafting into his nose. She was so close, he could feel her breath on his neck. Her mouth was so close, it would have been ridiculously easy to kiss her. But he couldn't. Not yet. No matter how much he wanted to. Because his brain was screaming at him that this girl was something special, and it was very, very important not to do anything to jeopardize any future relationship with her…

She had managed to completely bewitch and bedazzle him, and he never did feel her hand slip under his coat and grasp the gun in his shoulder holster. Before he knew what was happening, she had swung it around and squeezed off one shot. Gambit felt his jaw drop as it neatly hit his own perfect shot, driving the first bullet farther into the wood. Purdey looked at it with pride, then took Gambit's hand and placed the gun in it. He looked at her, dumbfounded, and caught the triumphant smile she flashed to his face.

"You're right, Mr. Gambit. You do need experience. Where you got it wrong was assuming I hadn't any." She brushed a loose strand of blonde hair aside smugly. "Now, if you don't mind, I simply must be going. All those files won't read themselves." With that, she turned on her heel and started back the way she had come. The long row of agents applauded her as she passed, and Purdey's smile broadened as she basked in the praise. She looked back over her shoulder to see how Gambit was taking it, but to her surprise he was applauding as well. When he saw her looking his way, he raised one hand and saluted her smartly, then followed it up with a saucy wink. Purdey felt herself beam at the compliment, and she turned away before Gambit could tell just how pleased she was at his praise. If she wasn't careful, he might get the idea that she liked him, just a little bit, and then she'd never hear the end of it.

She picked up her pace.

Purdey flopped onto the couch in her flat and kicked off her heels with an indulgent sigh. Her feet hurt from commuting between file rooms all afternoon, but it had been most definitely worth it. She was certain she knew everything there was to know about Wollerton, his company, and the men with whose death he had been implicated. She knew every facet of this tenuously sketched assignment backwards and forwards. Her hard work had paid off, and she felt confident despite the first-assignment butterflies that were currently fluttering around in her stomach. A mixture of excitement and anxiety, a potent cocktail at the best of times, had followed her every movement, but she was determined not to let it undermine her. She had been working all year for the right to do this job, and she wasn't going to let herself run from an early opportunity to prove her mettle in the field. Not only would it score her the admiration of her classmates but, if she pulled it off with aplomb, an asset to her record, proof that she could handle herself even without the benefit of full certification and passing all the exams. It would give her a reputation as a force to be reckoned with before she even 'officially' started. It was almost too good to be true. That is, if it all went according to plan. And much of that would depend on how she got on with her two new colleagues. That was why Mike Gambit's file was now sitting, quite invitingly, on her coffee table.

During her multitude of file runs for Wollerton, Purdey had made time a quick detour. Personal files were out-of-bounds to all but the most senior personnel, and were only released to anyone else on a need-to-know basis, and anything at all on John Steed outside case files was held so close to the chest that Purdey had the feeling that, somewhere, a file clerk was quite patiently perched on top of a locked chest, ready to defend Steed's privacy to his last breath. Purdey had tried anyway, but all of her inquiries had been rebuffed, sometimes politely, sometimes less so. Mike Gambit, however, was a little less sacred, and Purdey had managed to charm a rather receptive young Files staffer into letting her have a copy of Gambit's agent dossier, detailing his career and statistics as they pertained to the Ministry itself. Purdey was of the opinion that the more she knew about Mike Gambit, the better she would be able to work with him, and the more likely she was to not be surprised in any way that could be…compromising. Besides, Gambit was still a bit of an enigma, with all those rumours about what had transpired before he joined the rank and file of Ministry agents stimulating her sense of curiousity.

Purdey settled back on the couch and decided this bit of personal espionage called for a drink. She reached over to the side table and poured herself a gin before flipping open the file cover, and reading. Michael Gambit. Enlisted 1974. Existing proficiency in combat, including unarmed (karate) and armed. Top marks in shooting, combat, deduction, interrogation, resistance to interrogation, fitness, computers, strategy, weaponry…Purdey raised an eyebrow. Well, at the very least he seemed to know his onions. She turned the page and decided to delve further.

Early the next morning, Purdey stood in the floor-length mirror in front of her ballet barre, pinning her hair up in what she hoped was a sufficiently secretarial way. Satisfied, she tugged at the bottom of her black turtleneck sweater to smooth it, and continued the motion on down the matching black, knee-length skirt. Her black heels completed the ensemble. She'd read in the course of her research that Wollerton was a very no-nonsense sort of employer, and didn't hold with staff who spent more time on their appearance than their jobs. Look respectable, but don't waste time on anything more. Purdey had ensured her make-up was as subtle as possible, and hoped she'd blend into the background. The last thing she wanted was Wollerton having an extra reason to pay attention to his newest staff member. She'd never get any real investigating done if he did.

Satisfied that she was as ready as she'd ever be, Purdey turned to her armchair, over which her overcoat and purse had been draped. She shrugged the coat on and added a scarf, picked up her purse, squared her shoulders, and strode out of her apartment to the first assignment of her career. She had to drive to Steed's first, for a final briefing which necessitated the earliness of the hour. She didn't want to be late.

She closed the door and locked it, then started to mount the 21 steps which led up and out of her basement flat. So engrossed was she in her thoughts about what the day would bring, she nearly collided with the man coming down. She looked up in surprise, only to find Mike Gambit's handsome features staring down at her.

"Mr. Gambit!" she exclaimed in surprise.

"Hello, Miss Bryde." Gambit's smile was slight but hopeful. "On your way to see Steed?"

"Yes," Purdey confirmed, trying to look at his face without noticing how attractive he was. She was convinced she had cured herself of that insight last night, after reading the file. He was an agent. A fellow agent. Talented, perhaps more so than she thought, but still an agent. Someone she definitely didn't want to get involved with. But that was rather difficult to remember when he was looking down at her with those eyes again. Those eyes that she swore looked straight into her soul, and knew…everything. "And I'll be late if I don't hurry." She tried to maneuver around him, but Gambit didn't budge.

"Change of plans," Gambit told her. "Steed's laid a car on for you to use during this assignment. I've been ordered to drive you out to his stud farm instead."

"Ordered?" Purdey arched an eyebrow. "Do you always follow orders, Mr. Gambit?"

"When they have so much potential, I do," Gambit quipped, eyes flicking up and down her figure with interest. Purdey pursed her lips in irritation. This was Mike Gambit all right. The one she'd been warned about. She didn't particularly want to get in a car with him if he was going to play these sorts of games, but Steed had given an order, and she didn't want to start defying the boss on her first day. That wouldn't do at all. Besides, she knew what Gambit was about, and forewarned was forearmed.

"Well, then, we had be going then, hadn't we?" she said briskly, and Gambit grinned and stood aside, sweeping an arm up the staircase.

"After you," he offered, and Purdey inclined her head and continued up the staircase once more.

"It's awfully early," she said by way of conversation as Gambit followed her up. "I hope you didn't ruin your beauty sleep coming here."

Gambit smirked. "Well, I do like my sleep," he allowed, "but it's not as though I had far to go. I live just around the corner."

"Oh?" Purdey was surprised at that. She thought Gambit would be installed one of the more 'swinging' parts of London, not a relatively peaceful corner such as her own. "What a coincidence."

"Or kismet," Gambit offered, eyes twinkling mischievously. "I'll have to do the neighbourly thing invite you up for drinks one evening."

"Just drinks, Mr. Gambit?"

"Ah, that's ladies' choice, Miss Bryde," Gambit replied, and when Purdey looked over her shoulder, she felt as though he meant it. "But I'm hopeful."

"I'm sure you are." They'd mounted the staircase, and Purdey glanced up and down the street. "Well, as we're going to be riding together, which one's your car?"

"Just here," Gambit said jauntily, turning left and striding down the sidewalk. Two cars down from her own MGB was a rather gorgeous bright red Jaguar. Purdey liked cars for the most part, and her eye was instantly drawn to the fine example of motoring. She was surprised when Gambit stopped beside it, looking inordinately pleased with himself. Purdey couldn't suppress a small gasp of surprise.

"This is yours?" she breathed, unable to keep a touch of awe out of her voice.

"My pride and joy," Gambit confirmed with relish, patting the bonnet affectionately. "Only had her a month. A brand new XJS, with all the bells and whistles. I'd been promising myself one for a long time, and I finally accumulated enough paycheques…" He watched as Purdey stepped over to the bonnet and stroked the shiny crimson paint. Gambit watched her with interest. A woman who really knew her cars was a rare breed, one that interested him immensely. "Do you like her?"

"She's lovely," Purdey agreed, taking a moment to walk around the front of the vehicle. "She's quite sporty, though. Do you know how to handle her?"

"I think I know my way around her gearbox, yes," Gambit quipped, and Purdey pulled a face at the innuendo. "But much as I'd love to hang about and prove it to you, we're on a deadline. Steed's waiting, so…" He gestured for her to go to the passenger side. Purdey obliged and opened the door, slid into the seat, took a moment to give the leather interior an appreciative once-over while Gambit started the engine and pulled away from the curb.

"I don't suppose my new car will be quite as well-appointed?" she mused as Gambit drove.

Gambit shook his head ruefully. "The Ministry doesn't go in for flash motors when it's their money. I bought my Range Rover through them, and I only managed to convince them to foot the bill because it's so good off-road. No, I wouldn't get my hopes up."

"Pity," Purdey said with a sigh, and settled back in her seat to wait out the ride.

"It doesn't matter, anyway," Gambit murmured. "I get the feeling Steed arranged this less for your cover, and more for an excuse to get us in a car together, try to force us to strike up a rapport."

Purdey frowned and turned his way. "Why, is that the sort of thing he would do?"

"Yes," Gambit said, without hesitation. "Trust me. I've only known him for six months, but I've a pretty damn good idea how his mind works. He's trying to prove a point, and he's not even being subtle about it."

Purdey was interested now. "Is that what he's like? Always calculating, always an angle?"

"What do you think?"

"I don't know. That's why I'm asking you. I mean, Steed's a living legend. He's tangled with the best and come out on top more times than anyone can count." Purdey's eyes were shining as she thought back to all the stories she'd heard in training, and Gambit felt his eyes narrow imperceptibly. "But I've only heard second-hand accounts. What's your opinion of him? Really. I'd like to know what he's like."

"Would you?" Gambit said tersely. "Ruthless, cunning, devious. A master of the double-play."

Purdey smirked. "Well, he'd have to be, wouldn't he? He wouldn't be the agent he is if he went around announcing his next move to the world and his reasoning behind it."

"Yeah," Gambit muttered, jaw clenched. "I just wish he'd save the manipulation for the other side, and quit practicing on his own." Purdey could feel the tension radiating off him, could see the way his hands gripped the steering wheel. Gambit had unresolved issues with Steed, had clearly suffered at his hands at some point in time, perhaps more than once. Purdey couldn't imagine what Steed would want to do to Gambit. The man probably deserved it for some reason or another, but he seemed to be very invested in Gambit's promise as an agent, and alienating him would seem to be counter-intuitive. She'd sensed a slight tension between them in the office, but now Gambit's anger was almost palpable. She decided not to press Mike further for the moment. Perhaps Steed would be a more useful source of information.

"He can't be all bad," she opined. "He seemed perfectly charming when I spoke to him."

Gambit let off a short bark of laughter. "He would be, with you. You're female and attractive. I don't have the sort of legs that look good in a skirt."

Purdey felt herself stiffen in offense, despite, perhaps because of, the fact that she had found herself attracted to the senior agent. "If you're suggesting that I was anything less than professional…"

"Don't worry. I'm commenting on his personality, not yours." He cast a sideways glance at her legs, poking from beneath her skirt. "Though you don't have anything to be ashamed of." He saw Purdey cross her arms angrily and sighed. "Look, I'm not…that came out wrong. This is nothing to do with you. It's Steed and me, and you shouldn't have to be thrown in the middle of it." He removed a hand from the wheel and pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly. "Let's drop it, okay? Why don't we make Steed happy and actually try and get to know one another?"

Purdey scowled at him. "If that's leading up to another chat-up line…"

"Believe me, I'm not in the mood just now." There was a pounding behind Gambit's eyes that so often accompanied his thoughts of Steed these days. "I should probably introduce myself properly, if we're going to work together."

"Oh, I think I know you well enough already, Mike Gambit," Purdey said with a laugh.

Gambit snorted. "I hate to be the one to break this to you, but the Ministry's rumour mill isn't always the best place to gather your intel. They're a creative lot, but accuracy goes out the window." He glanced her way and smirked. "Besides, there's more to me than my love life."

"You mean your magic ability to end up in front of any bullet fired within a three-mile radius?" Purdey quipped. "Or your habit of collecting the actual weapons just as much as the things they fire?"

"Ah," Gambit said, looking slightly sheepish. "You caught me. I can't deny the first one. I assume you heard about my time in Germany?"

"It did come up," Purdey said dryly. "But then anyone who took three bullets scrambling over the wall and lived to tell the tale would tend to gain a certain amount of notoriety."

"Funny how notoriety doesn't do much for you when you need a blood transfusion," Gambit said wryly. "But then I did accomplish my mission. The job's it's own reward."

"Is it?"

"Well, that time it didn't feel like it, but at the end of the day, you're doing something useful." Gambit shifted gear. They were in the country and he relished the chance to exploit the Jaguar's potential. "But there's plenty of time for me to tell you about my old war stories. Now, the second thing you said…" He paused and considered. "That's really not juicy enough for rumour mill material. I'd say you read that somewhere."

Purdey stopped breathing. She didn't want Gambit to know she'd read his file. He'd interpret that as interest, and he'd interpret interest as her wanting to… "What do you mean?" she said, trying to not let her voice waver, and not having much success.

"It sounds like something you'd find in my file," Gambit said slowly, head turning so his eyes could meet hers. "Doesn't it?" His lips stretched into a satisfied grin. "Did you do a little extra reading yesterday, Miss Bryde?"

Purdey was ready to lie, but those eyes were doing it to her again, reaching deep down and touching the little part of her she'd locked away years ago, for her own sanity. "Know your enemy," she said simply, determined not to be guilted into admitting any more. "I didn't want to be at a disadvantage."

"Mission accomplished," Gambit said. "Boot's on the other foot now. I've read your personnel file, too, but I haven't been listening at keyholes, so I'm already working on less information than you." The blue eyes dared him to try it, and he turned away with a shrug. "But I'll hold off for now. Unless you want to tell me something, get the conversation started?"

Purdey said nothing.

"Fair enough," Gambit conceded. "Back to me again, is it? Do you mind if I flesh your views out a little more, give you something that you haven't read or had fed to you by Terry, or Harlow, or heaven knows who?" He chuckled in spite of himself, thinking of some of the Ministry agents he was chummier with. "Whatever they told you, I can promise their motives were less than pure."

"Oh, really?" Purdey uncrossed her arms and settled back in her seat again. "Were they lying, then?"

"More along the lines of being selective about the truth," Gambit clarified. "But I'm probably not quite as unidimensional as they made out."

"In what way?" Purdey was interested now, in spite of herself. If Gambit was going to volunteer…

Gambit shrugged again. "What do you want to know?"

What indeed? "Your choice."

"That's very decent of you," Gambit said, with just a touch of sarcasm. "All right, then. Let's see. I joined the Navy at 14, my favourite tipple is a good Scotch whiskey, and I've been known to sketch in my spare time."

"Fourteen?" Purdey repeated. She'd gotten a bit distracted after the age, and had barely registered the other two facts. "That's a bit young, isn't it?"

"You'd think so, wouldn't you?" Gambit said quietly, and there was no humour there. "But somehow it felt horribly old." He must have realized how sobering his words sounded, looked her way and managed a tight smile. "There were a few things going on at home that I'd rather not revisit. Family." He worked his jaw for a moment, and Purdey realized the act must be one of anxiety. "What about you? What's your family like?"

Purdey felt her walls go up. "Oh, I've been lucky," she said vaguely. "Supportive. Very warm."

"You're lucky," Gambit opined. "What did your parents do?"

"We're almost there, aren't we?" Purdey diverted, seeing a gate coming up. "Is this Steed's?"

"Yes," Gambit confirmed, looking at her oddly. He didn't know why, but she was definitely avoiding the issue of her family. A sore point. Why, he couldn't fathom. She said she liked them, so he couldn't think why she'd have more of a reason to be close-mouthed about it than he did. But she definitely wasn't interesting in prying. Maybe when I know her better. If I ever get the chance. If I even want the chance.

Purdey watched wide-eyed as Gambit turned up the expansive drive that led to a rather impressive manor house, white, crisp, and clean, with expansive grounds stretching out on every side. She couldn't see what was directly behind the house, but in the distance she spotted a clutch of trees forming the beginnings of a wood. To the house's right was a large garage, and, further along, a well-appointed set of stables. Gambit noticed where she was looking, grinned. "Stud farm," he reiterated. "Steed's keen on horses. I don't know if it's a genuine passion, or if he's just trying to live up to his name."

Purdey chuckled at the irony in spite of herself. "Either way, he's done himself proud. Does he ever let you have a ride?"

"Sometimes," Gambit allowed. "I wasn't born in saddle like he was, but he's given me a few lessons. I can hold my own in a race in any case. You?"

"Oh, I love horses," Purdey enthused, beaming. "An aunt of mine lived in the country, and I loved to visit her, because it always meant riding. I haven't done much of it since I moved to London, though. Too busy."

"I promise you that won't change," Gambit said with a conviction borne of experience. "The Ministry has a habit of finding out about your spare time and giving you lots of productive ways to fill it."

"Oh, dear," Purdey commented. "Any advice?"

"Learn to hide," Gambit advised, and winked at her. "The file rooms are very good for getting lost. I've made a few friends among the clerks. If you're very nice to me, I could put a good word in for you…"

"I'll find my own good words, thank you," Purdey said primly. They'd stopped in the driveway, and she alighted from the car gracefully, scanned the clutch of vehicles parked on the gravel. There was a black Range Rover parked near the front door, and, a little ways away, a modest, aging little gray Triumph Herald. Gambit climbed out of the car on his side, raised his eyebrows at the vehicle.

"The Ministry hasn't let you down," he said wryly, wandering over to inspect the car, bending to look in the window. "You're lucky they sprang for the 1970 model. If the backroom boys were feeling really mean, they might have tossed you the 1959 original."

Purdey walked over, sighed as she patted the little car's bonnet. "It'll do," she decided, determined to not let the car hamper her enjoyment of the case. "As long as it works."

"I'll give it a look before you take it out," Gambit offered, opening the door. "Make sure it's all shipshape." He leaned in, waved an arm towards the front door. "Steed's waiting. Go in without me."

Purdey felt herself waver. "Just like that?" John Steed's house? Alone? Her?

"The door's unlocked," Gambit's muffled voice informed from within the cab. Purdey opened her mouth to protest, but realized that would only make her seem more of a greenhorn than she already was, and she wanted to discourage Gambit from thinking of her that way as much as possible. But before she went, she couldn't resist having the last word. She realized it was a bit unfair to shoot Gambit down just when he was starting to ask about her. He didn't know the significance of her family history, and there was no reason why he should. That was the point. But it was a bit unfair, him having given her more when she'd already poked around for so much. She found she wanted him to know something, though she wasn't entirely certain why. But Mike Gambit had seemed…genuine, in the end, and she felt it was wrong to leave him hanging.

"Marshmallows," she called over to him, and Gambit's head popped above the roof of the car.

"What?"

"You wanted to know something about me," she said cheerily. "I like marshmallows. They're my favourites."

Gambit grinned, and she could tell he was genuinely pleased to receive her offering, no matter how small. "Duly noted. Now get a move on."

She nodded and turned back to the house, squared her shoulders, inclined her chin, strode up to the front door, took a deep breath, and turned the knob.

She instantly found herself in a corridor. Following it led her into an open area, with a dining area set up to her right, and a living room with a couch and chairs off to her left. It was in one of the chairs that Steed was ensconced, looking at something in his hands. When he looked up and saw Purdey, he returned it to the box at his feet, and rose to meet her, a warm smile on his face.

"Purdey," he greeted, and Purdey smiled with relief that he had remembered about her name. "So glad you could come. I apologise for the earliness of the hour, but I didn't want to send you in without one final briefing. I trust riding with Gambit was, uh, pleasant?"

"We didn't murder each other," Purdey said brightly. "And I doubt we'll do so for the duration of this assignment, so long as he respects the boundaries."

Steed smiled knowingly. "I've a feeling if he doesn't, he'll be discouraged from that course of action very quickly, if your file is any indication. But I shouldn't worry about Gambit. In my experience, he handles himself with aplomb. I don't think you have anything to fear. But we're not here to talk about Gambit." His face turned serious. "Do you know your backstory?"

"Backwards and forwards," Purdey assured. "And I've done all of my research on Wollerton. I promise you I'm ready to find out anything and everything I can. All I need is the opportunity."

"All the same," Steed pressed, "should anything go wrong, anything at all, I want you to withdraw, or call for help. You're still a trainee, and I'm not going to be responsible for your death because I got you in over your head. You'll check in with me at this number every hour." He handed her a slip of paper. Purdey took it and read the number, committed it to memory. "And if I don't?" she queried.

"I'll send in the cavalry," Steed replied. "I'll have my radio attuned to the correct frequency, so I should be in contact no matter where I am. If you can't reach me, Gambit's number is on the back. They're both secure, scrambled lines. One of us should be able to assist."

Purdey flipped the page and started to store Gambit's number much as she had done Steed's. She was fairly good at memorization, had saved herself a fair number of failed exams by her ability to digest facts and figures quickly. Her instructors had lauded her for it. Satisfied she knew them by heart, she handed the paper back to Steed.

"Thank you," she said, "but I don't think I'll be needing any help. I can handle myself."

"All the same, I want you to call in. If not for you, then for my own peace of mind."

Purdey smiled flirtatiously. "Well, I suppose there are worse things to be forced to do than call John Steed several times a day."

"That's the spirit," Steed lauded, smiling back. "Now, your car should prevent anyone who may ask questions from tracing you back to the Ministry. Between that and the fabricated backstory you were provided with, no one should suspect you to be anything but a temporary secretary from an agency. But Wollerton's presumably already spotted one of our people, and he ended up dead. Don't take any unnecessary risks, Purdey. And always check in, no matter how tedious it may seem. Otherwise—"

"Cavalry," Purdey cut in knowingly. "I know the risks. I'll be all right."

"I hope so. I'm glad Gambit insisted on the car, though."

Purdey did a double-take. "Gambit?" she repeated. "But he said—"

"I imagine he said it was me," Steed cut in. "And I was the one to arrange it, yes, but it was Gambit who decided you needed the extra layer of security. Fought for it. And he's partly the reason you'll be running up such a large phone bill at Wollerton's. I was only going to ask for every two hour check-ins, but he insisted on every hour."

Purdey digested this new information. That didn't sound like a brash, reckless agent at all. In fact, it sounded quite…caring. "Is he that worried that I'm going to botch the job?" she tried, searching for the ulterior motive.

Steed shook his head. "Gambit's spent his fair share of time undercover. I'm sure you heard about Berlin?" She nodded, and he continued. "He knows just how badly these things can go wrong, and like it or not, you are inexperienced. He dislikes the idea that I'm throwing you headfirst into the deep end, and wanted you to have a life preserver."

Purdey blinked in surprise. Gambit was proving more confusing by the moment. "Well," she began, unsure of what to say. "Tell him…thank you, I suppose."

"I will." Steed sighed. "I suppose there's nothing more I can do. Except…" He turned and moved back to the box, extracted something from it, then returned to her. "I thought you might like to have these. Mrs. Gale used them on more than one occasion. They add an extra touch, let you immerse yourself in the role."

Purdey took a pair of officious, thick-rimmed glasses from him, opened them up with bemusement. "Glasses?" she murmured, in mild bemusement.

"They work very well," Steed insisted. "People are much more likely to believe you if you're wearing them. I've used a pair on more than one occasion myself. Go on. Put them on."

Purdey regarded them dubiously, but Steed looked eager to see her in them. She shrugged slightly and put them on. The lenses were simply clear glass, and didn't do anything to her sight one way or the other, but Steed seemed inordinately pleased with them.

"Excellent!" he enthused. "Now you're inhabiting the cover. No one will doubt you for a moment."

"I hope not." Purdey recognized the new voice as Gambit's. She swung round just as he came around the corner, wiping his slightly-oiled hands on his handkerchief. "The last thing we want is for someone to…" He trailed off when he saw the glasses, stopped dead in his tracks. He took in Purdey's priceless bemused expression, the bright blue eyes clearly confused behind the lenses. He couldn't help himself. His lips twitched upwards in amusement. Purdey crossed her arms in annoyance.

"Is something funny, Mr. Gambit?"

"The glasses," Gambit managed, shoulders shaking as he struggled to stifle his laughter. "Steed made you…oh, help."

Steed looked mildly annoyed as well. "I think she looks marvelous in them!"

"She does. She's a vision," Gambit choked, trying to regain his composure. "Sorry. Steed's right. Very…administrative. No one will doubt you for a minute." He cleared his throat. "The car's in good shape, surprisingly. I checked on the radio. Everything's working." He walked over to put a friendly arm around Purdey's shoulders. "Well, Miss Bryde, ready to face the exciting new world of espionage?"

"I am," Purdey confirmed, shrugging off his arm. "If you'll give me the keys."

Gambit handed her the ring, and Purdey took them with a little less grace than she would have otherwise. Despite her confidence, she was beginning to feel a little nervous. She was really going on an assignment. The real thing. Not a training course, not a manufactured scenario. A real undercover operation, with real danger. Her heart was doing a complicated dance in her chest, but she refused to let Gambit and Steed see her anxiety. She treated them to a cocky grin and shook the keys. "Wish me luck."

"I hope you don't need it," Gambit murmured, all humour gone now.

"Gambit will be checking in with you at your lunch hour," Steed told her. "You can report to him on how well you've been accepted into Wollerton's inner sanctum."

"I'll be in the Jaguar," Gambit added. "Make sure you're not followed, but if you are, keep walking. I'll find some way to make contact."

Purdey nodded briskly. "Right," she said briskily. "Here I go. See you at lunch." With that, she strode off down the corridor. A moment later they heard the door open and close, then the sound of an engine as the Triumph Herald sparked to life and drove away. Gambit and Steed listened in silence until it faded into the distance. Only then did Gambit turn to Steed.

"Do you think she'll be all right?"

"We'll make sure of it," Steed said firmly. "Both of us. I told her about your…contributions."

"Did you?" Gambit looked interested in that. "What did she say?"

"Thank you."

Gambit nodded, looked satisfied with that. "Let's hope it's enough. Now, what are we going to do while Purdey's out playing in the lion's den?" He surprised himself at the usage of her Christian name when she wasn't present, but then he'd already started thinking of her as 'Purdey' in his head. He was only calling her 'Miss Bryde' as a way to prod her into dropping the honourific before his name. It made him feel uncomfortably like her bank manager.

"We won't lack for excitement," Steed assured. "We're going to pay a visit to an old colleague of Wollerton's. Come along, we'll take the Rover. Purdey will be able to reach us in it." He collected his bowler and brolly from the couch, and indicated for Gambit to go before him. "I'll explain on the way."


	6. Down to Business

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, John Steed, and Thomas McKay. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended
> 
> Timeline: First in a series. Takes place in late December, 1975, a full four months before the start of the series in April, 1976. It is strongly recommended that you go back and read the previous story in the arc, Lost Boys. Those interested in the rest of the series are, of course, invited to read the subsequent stories in the arc.
> 
> For more information about the series, please see my profile.  
> \---------------------------------------

"Purdey Bryde," Purdey said to the woman behind the front desk in the lobby of Wollerton's building. "I'm to be the temporary secretary for Mr. Wollerton. They should be expecting me."

"Ah, yes." The receptionist glanced at a daybook on her desk. "Yes. You're right on time." She produced a clip-on pass. "You'll need to wear this whenever you're in the building. Security will remove you otherwise. Mr. Wollerton's office is on the fifth floor at the end of the corridor. The lifts are that way." She pointed to a line of gleaming doors off to her right. Purdey took the pass and thanked her, made her way over to the doors, and stepped inside a pair that sat open, waiting for a passenger. She hit the button labeled "5," and took some time to compose herself as the doors slide closed before her. She slipped off her overcoat and draped it over her arm, then examined her reflection in the shining doors. There was no going back now. This was it. Everything depended on her being able to successfully create and maintain her cover, and she would have to be on her guard every second. She patted her pin-up self-consciously.

"You can do this," she muttered quietly to herself. "You have the training. Steed thinks you're up to it, so you'd best not let him down." The lift was slowing now, and Purdey took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and waited for the doors to open. The instant she set foot outside of its confines, she was someone else.

The corridor was plain and unadorned. White walls, white ceiling, white tiles, white doors. The whole thing was almost too bright to look at, everything blurring together in blinding whiteness. The only thing that stood out was the large oak door in the distance, a solid brown square at the end of the hallway. Purdey made her way toward it, feeling her heart beat faster with excitement and anxiety with each step. By the time she reached the door, she felt ready to explode. Somehow, despite her shaking hands, she managed to operate the knob. The door eased open, and she stepped inside.

The sight that greeted her was that of an outer office. Purdey took the set-up in quickly. The floor was carpeted in some shade of cream, and appeared plush enough to be expensive. The main features were a pair of desks, one on either side of the room, facing one another to create a corridor up the centre. Behind them, the walls were lined with an array of gray filing cabinets. Directly across from where Purdey stood was a set of double doors, these infinitely grander than the ones she'd seen out in the hall. Big, polished, substantial, and glossy, they were clearly the entrance to Wollerton's inner sanctum. Purdey noticed only one of the desks was occupied, the one to her right. A middle-aged woman, dressed in a high-necked blouse and tweed skirt, was typing away, glasses perched on the end of her nose. She looked up at Purdey, peering over the lenses at the new arrival.

"Just a moment," she said to Purdey, then returned to her typing. Purdey nodded and looked around the room a little more. There were a few chairs set around a coffee table in a corner, the latter covered with an array of magazines. Clearly it was meant to serve as a waiting area. There were only two windows, both on the wall behind the secretary's desk. Purdey found herself wondering how one would go about breaking in through them, if it were even possible. Steed or Gambit might know, she thought to herself, filing the idea away for future reference.

The secretary had finished, pulling her typed sheet from the typewriter, and laying it beside the machine. She stood up and removed her glasses before moving to meet Purdey. Closer up, Purdey could see that the woman's hair was held in a tight bun. Her eyes were green, not particularly cold, but not particularly friendly, either. Professional. That was the word.

"Miss Bryde, I take it?" the secretary inquired, and Purdey nodded.

"Purdey Bryde," she confirmed, taking the hand the woman offered, and feeling all of her anxiety melt away. Now that the pressure was truly on, she found herself sliding into the role easily, stepping up to the plate without a second thought. It was as though she had been programmed for this at some level. "I was sent by the agency…"

"Yes, I'm quite aware of where you came from," the secretary cut in. Her words were clipped, cut off almost before they finished, as though she were trying maximize the efficiency of her speech. "I am Doris Westbrook, Mr. Wollerton's assistant. You are on time, Miss Bryde. Please make a habit of it. Punctuality means a great deal here." She looked Purdey up and down with an appraising eye. "I'm afraid Miss Pettigrew, my usual helper, is not as dedicated as you or I, Miss Bryde. She chose to take time off between Christmas and New Year's Eve. I expect you will prove to be made of sterner stuff?"

"Yes, of course Miss Westbrook," Purdey confirmed. "I was given this placement because of my willingness to put in the time. Many of the others at the agency—"

"Would not. Yes, I can imagine." Miss Westbrook finished eyeing Purdey up and finally met her gaze. "You will be expected to work hard, Miss Bryde, but hopefully not out of your depth. I am in charge of most of Mr. Wollerton's most pressing day-to-day activities. Your role is mainly to deal with the other menial tasks that I will not have time for. You will be engaged in typing, dictation, filing, screening calls, and making appointments. Should I not be in the office when someone arrives, you will show in any visitors. Most of our pertinent files are found in this room, but there are others in a more secure location within the building which only I will be responsible for retrieving, during which time it will be your responsibility to 'hold the fort,' as it were."

Purdey smiled slightly. "I think you'll find I work very hard, Miss Westbrook. I've had very good reviews from several of my previous employers."

"I'm glad to hear that, dear, but I'm afraid you've never come up against Mr. Wollerton." The secretary smiled conspiratorially. "He does not approve of laziness. You will be expected to work at an accelerated pace throughout the whole of the day. You will receive 45 minutes at midday for lunch. You will not speak to Mr. Wollerton, or disturb him, unless it is to show in a visitor for an appointment, or to put through a scheduled call. I will take all files in to him. Anything you happen to see within our files is confidential. You will not disclose their contents to anyone, or you will face prosecution. We also do not respond to inquiries from the press. Should we wish to make some information public, we will contact them, not the other way around. If you are approached by any member of the press, you are ordered to refrain from speaking to them. Is that understood?"

Purdey smiled again. "I do."

Doris nodded curtly. "Well, then, Miss Bryde, I welcome you to our company. You will be using Miss Pettigrew's desk in her absence." She pointed at the empty desk across from her own. "Make yourself comfortable."

"Thank you." Purdey crossed the room and hung her coat on the back of the chair behind it. She was just about to try the new chair on for size when the double office doors opened, and a man stepped out.

Purdey instantly knew it was Wollerton, not just because of where he had come from, or because she'd been provided with a photo among her briefing material, but because of the way the room itself seemed to instantly snap to attention. He was of middling height, stalky, balding, and with a permanent set frown, but he had a presence that Purdey found herself responding to instantly in her newly-assumed identity as eager-to-please secretary. She found herself smoothing her skirt in a manner that conveyed 'new employee about to meet boss,' and hoped someone was noticing these little details she was adding to convey authenticity. It would be an awful waste of effort otherwise, and she'd be terribly annoyed.

Sadly, Wollerton didn't spare her so much as a glance, all of his attention focused on Miss Westbrook, who had snapped to attention like a dutiful soldier the instant the doors had swung open. "Miss Westbrook," he snapped, and his voice made it quite clear he was not a man who suffered fools gladly, "I want those contracts on my desk now."

"Yes, Mr. Wollerton," Doris said, with the utmost respect and deference. "You'll have them instantly."

"And put a call through to our German branch while you're at it. I want to speak to them about the new circuit elements."

"Of course, sir." Doris scuttled over to her desk to do his bidding, leaving Wollerton to finally realize Purdey was standing there, still radiating keenness. He examined her in much the same way a young child examines a particularly repellant, never-before-seen, insect. Purdey could tell that employer-employee relations were not his strong point.

"Purdey Bryde," she volunteered, smiling cheerily through the urge to hit him upside the head. "I'm filling in for Miss Pettigrew."

"Hard worker, are you?"

"Yes, sir."

Wollerton grunted noncommittally, but clearly didn't find her suspicious or untrustworthy, which Purdey supposed was a blessing. Instead of questioning her further, he turned back to Miss Westbrook, barked, "Those files!" and returned to his office, closing the doors sharply behind him.

"Very good, dear," Doris praised from behind her desk. "You handled yourself perfectly. Keep your responses brief and to-the-point, and you shall settle in very well." She picked up some files and started toward the closed doors. "I'll only be a moment. Settle in, and when I return I'll assign you your tasks for the day."

"Yes, Miss Westbrook," Purdey parroted obediently, and waited until the woman was safely ensconced in the office before lifting the receiver on the telephone on her desk, and dialing the number Steed had given her. It rang twice before the senior agent answered.

"Steed here."

"Nine o'clock and all's well," Purdey quipped, unable to suppress a small smile. "I'm in."

"Excellent," Steed praised. "Keep in contact, and gather what you can. You can make a preliminary report when Gambit sees you at lunch."

"Right." Purdey paused, and could hear the sound of an engine in the background.  
What will you be doing?"

"We're en route to an old colleague of Wollerton's," Steed told her. "He may have something useful to share."

Purdey could hear approaching footsteps on the other side of the door. "I have to go," she hissed.

"Stay in touch."

"I will," Purdey promised, and rang off before she tarnished her pristine employment record.

"You must be joking."

Mike Gambit held the white plastic suit at arm's length, as though afraid it would suddenly leap from his grasp and try to smother him. Steed regarded him with mild amusement, committed the priceless expression to memory.

"No joke," he replied cheerfully. "Professor Potter's assistant was very clear on that point. The whole ensemble: suit, mask, cap."

"Professor Potty more like," Gambit muttered, resignedly starting to bunch up one leg so he could force a booted foot through. "Why does the Ministry always attract the dotty scientists who keep twelve cats and still think the Blitz is in full swing?"

Steed removed his bowler and set it on the table next to his brolly. "The line between genius and eccentricity has always been so thin as to hardly be there at all. But I agree the Ministry does have a habit of recruiting the…unconventional."

Gambit snorted as he pulled the suit over his knees and up toward his waist. "You're telling me. I'm getting my head examined the minute this assignment is over. Considering what I've gotten myself into, I must be due for a lobotomy." He sighed and stuck one arm into the crackling plastic sleeve. "Good thing I can pull off white."

Steed smirked. "I'll reserve judgment, but if you're willing to wear it to your rendezvous, you can always ask Purdey's opinion."

"As if my ego needs any more blows today," Gambit said with a sigh. "Do you think she's a bit frigid with everyone, or did I offend her somehow?"

Steed shook his head, even as he did up the buttons on the suit. "She's trying to keep a professional distance. You've got to see it from her point of view. She hasn't even attained full agent status, and she's suddenly been thrown in with two senior operatives. The fact that she's a woman puts her at an even greater disadvantage. If we all aren't careful, we'll reduce her reputation to shreds before she even has a sporting chance. She's protecting herself."

Gambit sighed, pulling on the plastic shower cap-like topper over the jet-black curls. "I know," he agreed, "but I wish she wouldn't make out that I'm going to throw myself on her without notice. I think she's been listening to too many breakroom rumours."

"Give her time," Steed advised. "She'll learn to trust you, just the way you did me, and I you."

Gambit paused, surgical mask in hand. He met Steed's gaze, then slipped it on, so only his eyes were visible. "Right. Trust."

Steed followed suit, slipping the mask into place. "Yes," he repeated. "Trust."

They stood for a moment, gazes locked, each trying to keep his eyes as impassive as possible. Steed had learned to play this game years ago, but Gambit was remarkably good at it. The blue-green eyes didn't flinch. Steed stared back, then realized there was nothing to be accomplished by a staring contest. "Shall we?" He indicated the door with a sweep of his hand, never breaking the connection.

"You first," Gambit insisted, not even blinking. Steed nodded thoughtfully, then turned and moved for the door. Gambit felt a flicker of triumph. Trust. Trust me not to put a knife in your back, but not much else. He followed Steed through the door, mouth set determinedly.

He wasn't prepared for the scene that greeted him.

Steed had told him that Professor Bernard Potter was an expert on computers, circuits, transistors, that sort of thing, a boffin who had been in the Ministry's employ for many years, and who had only shifted to part-time government work a few years ago, so as to focus on his main project, a highly sophisticated supercomputer. It was kept in a sealed room, and was very sensitive to dust and other microscopic particles, necessitating their rather unorthodox wardrobe. Gambit had expected the usual room-swallowing behemoth, all flashing lights and gleaming switches. He'd seen his fair share of systems in his time, and the smaller, more user-friendly personal consoles that were the latest addition to the market. The Ministry was in the process of inputing its sizeable cache of files into a computer database, and Gambit had spent some time getting acquainted with the machines. Anything that meant he wouldn't have to wrest documents from the grasp of power-tripping file clerks was more than welcome by him, though he did hope that the record rooms wouldn't disappear completely. They were wonderful places to hole away when one didn't want to be found…

On a personal level, Gambit toyed with the actual nuts and bolts of the systems on more than one occasion. He wasn't going to give the technicians a reason to worry over their job security, but some of his flat's mechanized gizmos had run aground on more than one occasion, and he'd become fairly proficient with a soldering iron in amending the problems. But this, this was way out of his league.

The computer was huge, as expected. What made his brain shortcircuit was the way all the insides were exposed to the elements, with a small opening at the front through which a pair of legs stuck, casually, white plastic feet pointing at the ceiling. A quick glance at Steed revealed he was taking the scene in stride, whether it was because he'd been forewarned, or simply down to his unflappable personality, Gambit didn't know. Not that it mattered. It was annoying either way.

"Professor Potter?" Steed inquired, voice somewhat muffled by the mask, and the legs twitched. They paused, then slowly the rest of the body slid out through the opening to join the appendages. Not that it mattered much. Professor Potter was dressed much as they were, suited up with mask and cap in place. He also wore a standard-issue pair of black framed glassed, much like the ones Steed had foisted on Purdey. Gambit smirked at the mental image from that morning, and Steed raised an eyebrow at the unexpected glint in the blue-green eyes before turning back to the Professor.

"John Steed, I expect?" Potter inquired, sitting upright and regarding them both with blinking eyes.

"Yes," Steed confirmed, offering the man a hand up.

"And Michael Gambit?" Potter added, looking to Mike as he straightened up. Gambit smiled, although there wasn't much point, and offered a hand.

"Pleased to meet you," he said politely, while making a mental note to have his file amended in the 'goes by' part of the 'name' section. No one outside his family had called him 'Michael' on a regular basis since he was twelve, and the Ministry's bevy of secretaries' habit of making appointments under the full auspices of his Christian name made him feel as though he were being summoned to the headmaster's office. Definitely not a good thing when conducting state business.

"The Ministry told me to expect you," Potter said, rather unnecessarily. "Something about old Wollerton, wasn't it?"

"Yes," Steed agreed. "You worked with him, didn't you?"

"Yes, on and off for four years," Potter replied. "We shared lab facilities, that sort of thing. Both mad on computers, electronics, that sort of thing. Used a lot of the same equipment, and the Ministry was always keen to pinch pennies whenever it had a chance. Part of the reason I'm only part-time these days."

"I see," Steed said thoughtfully. "Tell me, Professor, did Wollerton share your views on funding?"

"Oh, yes, one of the main reasons he left," Potter replied. "You know how it is. You want a new pen, and you have to prepare a budget and do a presentation for the board, explaining why it's vital for the country's security." He shook his head. "Most frustrating. We're scientists, not politicians."

"Amen to that," Gambit murmured, and Potter chuckled behind the mask.

"Too true, Mr. Gambit, too true. Are you computer men yourselves?"

"I'm reluctant to completely convert," Steed demurred. "I've seen too many nasty applications in my time. The buttons and switches are more Gambit's line."

"Oh?" Potter turned to Gambit with interest.

"Well, I dabble," Gambit said modestly, "but not with anything quite this big. And it's not usually, uh, inside-out."

Potter's head bobbed up and down enthusiastically. "Ah, you noticed that, did you?"

Bit hard to miss, Gambit thought, but didn't say it.

"Yes, I realize it seems a bit unorthodox. But it's so much easier to pinpoint what's gone wrong this way, you see. You can keep an eye on all the workings, and it's much easier to make modifications. The controls are inside, of course, and accessible through there." He pointed at the opening from which he had emerged a moment earlier. "This is only a prototype, of course. Once it's perfected, I intend to put it right way round again."

"Good to know," Gambit said noncommittally, a little disturbed by the fact that he could see the logic.

"This prototype is the reason you switched to part-time Ministry work?" Steed inquired, indicating the machine.

"That's right," Potter confirmed, nodding at the mass of circuitboards and wire. "No time for it otherwise. And no money, either. Two of the biggest irritants for a scientist."

One of Steed's still-visible eyebrows canted upwards. "And you're certain those were the same reasons Wollerton quit the Ministry?"

"Wollerton? Yes, I think so. Listen, do you mind if we continue this conversation in the next room? I like to minimize unnecessary contact with the prototype if at all possible."

"Of course."

They decamped to the outer office, and Gambit stripped off the mask gratefully, wiped away the sweat beaded on his top lip. It had been getting stuffy behind the covering, and he could feel the sweat trickling down the back of his neck from the stuffiness of the suit. Steed, naturally, had come out looking cool and unmussed. Gambit really was finding him insufferable today.

"Wollerton was…ambitious," Potter began, removing his own mask and cap, leaving a good deal of stuck-up hair that he neglected to smooth down. "As I said, he grew impatient with the reasons I mentioned to you—the need to appeal to the board for funding, for permission to begin work—but also because, when you work for the government, anything you create inevitably becomes government property, and not only that, becomes government-regulated. He wanted to be able to run things on his own, without anyone to tell him yes or no at any stage. So he quit and went into private enterprise, built up his own capital by creating things for others. Now he presumably has the resources to work on anything he chooses."

"I see," Steed murmured. "Private enterprise cannot remove one obstacle, though."

Potter frowned. "I'm sorry?"

"Government regulation," Steed reminded. "Whether it's funded privately or publicly, a project will never see the light of day if the top brass decides it's not in the public interest. But Wollerton had a problem with that state of affairs?"

"Yes."

"Do you think he would go so far as to conceal a project if he believed it would be confiscated or otherwise controlled by the government?"

"Well, I hate to speculate. That sort of thing could get a chap in all sorts of trouble. But he did say that his perfect world would be one with no government to interfere, one that would leave him to work in peace."

"A night-watch government?" Gambit hazarded, remembering a touch of political philosophy from his days scouring his ship's library as a youth. "Classical liberalism? Law and order and nothing else?"

Potter snorted. "From what I gathered, Wollerton would have been quite happy to supply his own law and order and forget the government, if it came to that. Just him, working in his lab, with no restrictions at all. All quite impossible, of course."

"Is it?" Steed said grimly. "Professor, did Wollerton ever give any indication as to how he might go about creating this…free state?"

Potter shook his head. "We weren't terribly chummy. Shared resources, but not much in the way of a friendship. I always assumed it was wistful thinking. Anyway, it wasn't my line at all. I'm quite content to assist the Ministry and work at my own projects, and I'm more than happy for the government to see that they're used appropriately. But I will admit that private funding has been very liberating. Knight Industries has been most kind in providing me with resources. Their chairwoman is most sympathetic to my areas of research."

Gambit felt rather than saw Steed's eyes flick toward him, but stubbornly refused to react. He knew that Steed knew just who Gambit had left Steed's Christmas party with, but he was determined to not let him cow him into feeling guilty about it. It wasn't as if he'd made the first move to talk to her. At this point, this many years after the fact, it was anyone's game, and it wasn't as if Steed had the moral high ground. No, if you want to play, you're going to have to say it to my face, not dance around it. I've had enough games for one lifetime.

"…I'm sorry I can't be of more help," Potter was saying, looking from Gambit to Steed with mild discomfort, suddenly realizing that something was wrong, but not entirely sure if it involved him. "Is there any other way I can assist you gentlemen?"

Steed turned away from Gambit, switched the beaming smile on. "No, thank you, Professor. You've been most helpful."

"Do you think Wollerton's built some sort of superweapon?" Gambit queried when they climbed back into the Rover.

"I think he's more than capable of it," Steed allowed, turning the key in the ignition. "A world where money, government, regulations would have no hold on him…"

"An anarchist's dream."

"And yet he doesn't seem to be politically motivated," Steed countered. "Whatever he has, I don't think it's a weapon. Or at least, not only a weapon. If what Potter says is true, he wants to knock out the top brass, and keep anyone else at bay."

"Nice work if you can find it," Gambit quipped, feeling cheeky now that he was out of that damned plastic suit. "Think our Miss Bryde's found a supersonic laser or something in the coat closet?"

Steed, to his credit, smirked. "You'll have to ask her when you see her."

Doris Westbrook hadn't been lying. Purdey worked like the proverbial dog all morning, barely managing her mandatory calls to Steed under the pretense that she was leaving messages, or speaking to other departments in the large organization. Three times she was called in to take dictation because Doris was otherwise occupied, and the typing never stopped. Purdey had always fancied herself an above-average typist, but once she saw Doris' fingers flying over the keyboard, and watched the pile in her own "In" tray slowly grow despite her efforts, she realized she would have to step up the pace lest Doris grow suspicious of her qualifications, or, even worse, simply sacked her for not meeting her high standards. The last thing Purdey wanted was to slink back to Steed and have to report that all the time, effort, and confidence placed in her was for naught simply because she couldn't make the words per minute target Wollerton demanded. She focused instead on making her own fingers fly, and by the time lunch swung around, she was making progress on her pile, and feeling quite pleased with herself. As she tugged her latest sheet from her typewriter and took it over to Doris, she noticed a newly-opened box sitting on the corner of the woman's desk. Inside, creamy-white, stiff squares of paper peeked out. Purdey peered at one as she handed Doris her paper.

"What are these?" she inquired, doing her best to sound simply like the bright new girl trying to take an interest in company affairs.

"Hmm?" Doris peered over her glasses at Purdey, then followed her line of sight. "Oh, those. Mr. Wollerton is having a little soiree at his estate the day after tomorrow, for his clients and investors. Those are a batch of last-minute invitations, just in case we've left anyone out."

"I see." Purdey pondered that for a moment, then noticed the time on the clock on the far wall. "May I take my lunch break, Miss Westbrook?"

"Hmm?" Doris repeated, for the second time in as many moments. "Oh. Yes. Yes, of course Miss Bryde. Forty-five minutes, remember. We have much still to do."

"Yes. I won't be long," Purdey assured, hurrying over to her desk to grab her coat, and dashed out the door, lest someone rope her back in for some more work if she didn't make good her escape now.

Purdey walked down the sidewalk, high heels clicking on the cement. She spotted Gambit's Jaguar parked on the street, and made her way over to the passenger side, tapping gently on the window. Gambit was doing the crossword, and looked up at the sound. Leaning across the seat, he unlocked the door for her. She slid in beside him and closed the door behind her. Gambit grinned.

"We can't keep meeting like this," he quipped.

"No, next time I think we should go to a restaurant. Or a pub, at the very least," Purdey agreed. "I'm very fond of meals, I'll have you know, and I like to have company."

"Is that a date?" Gambit asked hopefully.

"Not if it's business, Mr. Gambit," she pointed out.

Gambit looked disappointed. A business rendezvous was all very well and good, but it didn't promise much else. "There's no chance, then?"

Purdey smiled secretively. "I didn't say that," she said coyly, and watched Gambit's face light up again. He really did spring back remarkably well, nothing putting a dent in his good humour for very long. It was endearingly attractive, Purdey had to admit. There was something about making him smile that made her want to do it again, and the grin was infectious. She'd had time to think about their conversation that morning, realized that he meant well, flirting aside. She was so wrapped up in trying to remain professional and keep her distance that she'd forgotten that friendship was as much a part of a successful partnership as focusing on the task at hand. Admitting to herself that she rather liked Mike Gambit was a good start.

"Dinner?" Gambit's eyes were bright with hope, and told her that he was already considering all the possibilities.

"And dancing. If you know your way around a disco." She looked Gambit up and down appraisingly.

"I do," Gambit assured her. "I know my way around lots of things."

"So I've heard," Purdey murmured. Gambit raised an eyebrow but didn't comment.

"Were you followed?" he asked instead, switching into business mode.

"No, I don't think so. I was careful. No one seems to be paying me much attention, to be honest."

"Clearly blind or mad. Either way, it's their loss," Gambit opined, and treated her with a cheeky wink. Purdey felt one corner of her mouth quirked up. "But it's for the best. We want you to be as unobtrusive as possible. The best cover is the one no one notices, sadly. Gives the performer in you a bit of a hit, but you live longer with a bruised ego than bullet wound." He settled back in the car seat, rested one arm casually across the wheel. "So, what do you have for me?"

Purdey pursed her lips in annoyance. "Less than I'd like," she admitted. "Wollerton was clearly descended from one of those ancient Egyptian slave drivers in charge of building the pyramids."

Gambit raised an eyebrow. "Task master, eh?"

"That's putting it mildly. He's not terribly fond of people. I think he's rather impatient with them, because he can't push them as hard as a computer, but he tries to squeeze every ounce of productivity out of them nonetheless. I think I already have blisters on my fingers from all the typing and dictating. And I won't even begin to describe to you the agony my feet are in from running around to all those filing cabinets."

Gambit's ears perked up. "Files? Anything interesting?"

"Not in the ones I have access to, sadly," Purdey lamented with a sigh. "We have several cabinets in the office, but most of them are pretty mundane. Miss Westbrook, the main receptionist, she has access to the other file room down the hall. It's home to all of the classified things."

"And you can't get in?"

"Not without a key. Miss Westbrook has one, but she keeps it with her at all times. I haven't been able to lift it."

Gambit nodded thoughtfully. "Don't worry. Not all locks need keys." He met her eyes, and Purdey could see a twinkle in them. "I see a new lesson in your future."

"I'm sure you do," Purdey replied with a smile.

"Yes," Gambit murmured, half to himself, then snapped away from whatever dream world he was in danger of drifting into. "Anything else?"

Purdey remembered the invitations. "Yes! Wollerton's having a party in two days. Some sort of event for investors, clients, that sort of thing. There was a pile of invitations in the office, just waiting to be handed out to last-minute additions to the guest list."

"Really?" Gambit quirked an interested eyebrow. "Steed will definitely be interested in one of those."

"Do you want me to pick up a few?" Purdey wanted to know, looking a little too excited about the prospect.

Gambit chuckled at her enthusiasm, shook his head. "No, I don't think that'd be a very good idea, Miss Bryde. But don't worry—we'll get our hands on them one way or another. Steed's good with those sorts of things."

"Is he?" Purdey asked with interest.

"Yes," Gambit confirmed, a little grudgingly. He deeply wished Purdey didn't look quite so thrilled whenever he mentioned Steed. "He's a bit old-fashioned, but I'll be damned if he doesn't know the game like the back of his hand." The comment had come out of a little latent jealousy, coupled with the senior agent's betrayal. Gambit hoped he hadn't sounded too bitter to the new girl, but Purdey simply smiled one of those irrepressible smiles and shrugged.

"Perhaps he is," she conceded. "But so's St. Paul's cathedral, and it's survived a very long time." Gambit snorted but didn't comment. Purdey felt her stomach grumble. "Which is longer than I'm going to last if I don't have some lunch soon."

Gambit ceased his running commentary of unkind thoughts about Steed at the comment. "That reminds me." He reached across the seat again, and popped open the glovebox. "I picked you up something to go with your lunch."

Purdey peered inside, and smiled broadly as she reached in and extracted a bag of multi-coloured marshmallows. She looked to Gambit for explanation, and he shrugged.

"Got to keep your strength up, Miss Bryde. Undercover work is tough."

"Thank you," Purdey said sincerely as she opened the bag. She was feeling drained after her time undercover, on edge the entire time as she waited to see if Wollerton discovered her true motives. The familiarity of a marshmallow, and even Gambit, was welcome. She popped a blob of gelatin into her mouth and chewed luxuriously. Now that she was here, back in the Jaguar with Gambit, she was reminded of something else.

"Steed told me you were the one to insist on the new car."

Gambit actually looked surprised, and she found she liked the expression. To add to her amusement, he actually blushed, and slouched in his seat like a self-conscious teenager. "Yeah, well, Steed can be a little…thoughtless sometimes. He knows how to use people, and I mean use. I don't think he always means it with quite the same malice that he did, but it doesn't hurt to remind him once in awhile." He shrugged. "Didn't want to see you dead before your career even started just because we got a little careless."

"Well, I appreciate the sentiment," Purdey told him around a mouthful of marshmallow. "I want to be the best agent I can be, but it doesn't hurt to have someone else looking out for me."

"You'll never want for that as long as I'm around," Gambit promised, and Purdey could see from the conviction in his eyes that he meant it. "I'm going to be keeping an eye on you through this whole assignment. And afterwards, if I can manage it." His eyes drifted down to the hem of her skirt, and lingered momentarily. Purdey thought she should be outraged, but somehow she felt more amused.

"I see if my legs are ever in danger, they'll be well-protected," she quipped, and Gambit, after momentarily being surprised at being caught out, grinned.

"Just doing my duty, ma'am." He treated her to a cocky salute.

"I'll bear that in mind. But now I really have to go and find a sandwich or something. Unless you have a whole hamper in that glovebox, I'm going to die of hunger."

"I would never want to be responsible for your demise in any way, least of all from low blood sugar." Gambit reached across her so he could open the car door. "See you later, Miss Bryde. And take care of yourself." The last request was dead serious, reminded Purdey that she was still playing a dangerous game, even though things seemed to be going her way at the moment.

"I will," she vowed, and stepped out, taking the marshmallows with her. Gambit watched her hurry down the street, then sniffed. Her perfume was lingering in the cab, and there was still something about it that stirred an old memory. He frowned in concentration, but further information refused to come. He sighed and started the engine. He had to speak to Steed and pass on Purdey's information while it was still fresh in his mind.

"Miss Bryde," Steed greeted her on the doorstep of his large country house. "Fresh from your first day on the job, in more ways than one. Come in. We'll get you a drink and you can tell us all about it."

"Us?" Purdey inquired, following Steed inside, but she soon saw what he meant. Mike Gambit was sitting in the leather armchair in Steed's living area, ankles crossed, nursing a half-empty glass of what looked like whiskey. He saw her enter and raised his glass in tribute.

"Our woman on the inside," he toasted. "Back from the trenches."

"You're not far off," Purdey said tiredly, letting herself flop onto Steed's couch with barely-disguised relief. "I'm exhausted."

"Did you manage to discover anything interesting?" Steed wanted to know.

"Other than his striking resemblance to a slave driver?" Purdey quipped wearily.

Steed tsked sympathetically. "Gambit told me he works his staff hard."

"Incredibly."

"Then we had better get the drink into you as soon as possible. What will you have?"

Purdey smiled gratefully. "Gin, please. Dash of bitters, and a ginger ale, if you can find it."

"I think that can be arranged," Steed assured, turning to fix the drink. Purdey leaned forward and pried off one high heel with a groan, then quickly followed it with the other. She tossed both to the floor and stretched her feet luxuriously, closing her eyes and sighing with relief.

"Need a foot rub?" Gambit's voice offered, and Purdey pried open one eye to give him the look that deserved.

"I'd take you up on that if I didn't think you'd do more damage than good," she replied, wiggling her toes. "My poor abused feet. They've gone through the wars in their time, but today was absolute agony. Up and down all day, for one reason or another. All those files to retrieve, all those errands. And the dictation." She made a face. "My fingers are ready to fall off, between the shorthand and typing. It's a wonder there's anything left of me at all."

Gambit evaluated her over the rim of his whiskey glass. "Could have fooled me. Your feet match up very nicely with the rest of you," he opined. "And the rest of you is looking very good, believe me. If this is you exhausted, remind me to keep you up all night."

Purdey couldn't help but grin at the double entendre. Something about Gambit's passes buoyed her ego and her confidence, and despite feeling wrung out, she suddenly felt beautiful. Something about those eyes, that gaze, permeated to the core of her being, wrapped her up in an indescribable warmth. She basked in it, and her aching feet retreated to the back of her mind, temporarily overpowered by the slips of blue-green twinkling at her from across the room. There was something incredibly soothing, comforting, and rejuvenating about those eyes. Gambit seemed to know it, too, and raised his glass to her again. She caught the slightest hint of a wink, and suppressed the urge to laugh. No reason to let him know he had her quite that easily. If she was always this tired, too tired to resist, she was going to need to keep him at bay as much as possible. Because at the moment, her resistance was exactly nil.

"Your reward, Miss Bryde." Steed's voice shattered the moment, broke the connection, and Purdey breathed a sigh of relief. At the rate she was going, she was going to be taking Gambit's foot rub offer up soon. She took the drink gratefully.

"Thank you. Though I don't quite feel I deserve it. I don't have anything to report that I didn't tell Gambit at lunch. Wollerton seems to be clean as far as I can tell, but then I haven't been able to get into any of the important areas."

"Such as?" Steed wanted to know, coming to sit beside her on the couch.

Purdey took a sip of her drink and thought. "Well, the file room for one. All of the less-confidential files in our office I can easily access, but they're not terribly interesting. Finances, mostly. A few contracts. But all the really juicy things are in a locked room down the corridor. Miss Westbrook has a key. And then there's Wollerton's desk. I've seen it, of course, but I've never had a private moment to go snooping. And then there's the rest of the building. I never managed to go any farther than the floor directly below, to send memos off to the copier. And I know there's a basement. I'd love to have a look around down there, but I haven't worked out how yet."

"That's why we're here," Steed said with a smile. "We're going to have a look." Purdey frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"Tonight," Gambit chipped in, eyes dancing, "we're going to introduce you to the exciting, slightly illegal pleasures of breaking and entering."

Purdey looked from one to the other in disbelief. "We're going to break in?" she gasped, chest suddenly filling with excitement. "All of us?"

"That's the general idea," Steed confirmed. "You've a key to the building, don't you?"

"Well, yes," Purdey admitted, digging the keyring she'd been issued out of her pocket. "But it only fits one lock. There's a second as well, and only senior staff have keys to that, so they can get in in the morning."

"We'll attend to that one," Steed said unconcernedly, "and any others we happen to encounter. Lock-picking was one of your current courses, I believe."

"Nothing like a little practical experience," Gambit added. "You'll knock them dead at exams. Especially after watching two experts at work."

"Yes," Purdey agreed. "I've heard Steed still holds the record for the fastest escape from handcuffs." She shot Gambit a sly look to see how he'd react, and was rewarded with a touch of annoyance flitting across the handsome features. But he recovered fairly quickly, shrugged.

"I know I've matched it," he said casually. "Privately, but I could never get the girl to swear to it for posterity's sake."

Purdey gave that the look of derision it deserved, but Gambit was too busy finishing his drink to notice. Steed looked from one to the other in interest, then turned back to Purdey.

"Regardless of who will be doing the picking, I hope your feet will be up to it. I suspect there may be some lively footwork tonight. There will be guards to evade, I expect."

Purdey nodded, trying to ignore Gambit's distant, self-satisfied expression as he mentally relived his old victory, and doing her best not to picture him with a rather adventurous young woman. "Yes, one per floor, though I did manage to look at the schedule. They have a tea break at midnight and congregate at the first floor station."

"Midnight it is," Steed exclaimed cheerfully. "We'll meet in alley behind the building, shall we?"

"Anywhere in particular?" Gambit inquired.

"Yes," Steed confirmed, smile fixed in place. "Just about where Stanbury would have died, in fact. Near the back entrance. Apparently the bruises on his body match the pattern of the cobbles just there. Come equipped. Cameras, lockpicks. But keep it as light as you can. "

Purdey looked to Gambit as Steed rose and wandered off to the living room. "Dead man's alley," he murmured, setting his empty glass on the coffee table. "Welcome to our world, Purdey Bryde."

Purdey shuddered in spite of herself.


	7. The Break-In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, John Steed, and Thomas McKay. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended
> 
> Timeline: First in a series. Takes place in late December, 1975, a full four months before the start of the series in April, 1976. It is strongly recommended that you go back and read the previous story in the arc, Lost Boys. Those interested in the rest of the series are, of course, invited to read the subsequent stories in the arc.
> 
> For more information about the series, please see my profile.
> 
> \------------------------------------------

Purdey crept warily into the alleyway, eyes and ears alert for any sound echoing through the crisp winter air. It was a moonless night, and her torch cast all sorts of ominous shadows on the walls. She suppressed a shudder and tried to convince herself it was the fault of the cold and not her nerves. She had taken Steed's advice, after all, and kept things light, dressing in a pair of blue culottes, black sleeveless shirt, blue waistlength jacket, and black calf-high leather boots. Maybe not the warmest in winter gear, but she didn't plan on hanging about outside all night. Not if Steed and Gambit hurried up, at any rate. Purdey straightened her shoulders let out a long breath. If she was going to make a go in this profession, she was going to have to get used to this sort of thing. Skulking around dark places was practically a course in becoming an agent. The sooner she got control of her nerves, the better. She panned her torch over the back entrance to Wollerton's building and pondered how they were going to get past the second lock after they used her key.

"Come here often?" The voice was close to her right ear, and took her totally by surprise. She whirled around frantically, shining the beam of the torch protectively up at the owner's face. The light illuminated Mike Gambit's features, and the eyebrows waggled at her wickedly.

"Mike Gambit," Purdey hissed in annoyance, lowering the beam and making sure he could see her displeased expression despite the darkness. "Where did you come from?"

Gambit's eyes rolled heavenwards in thought. "Let's see, I was born in Battersea in 1943…" he began, then left off when Purdey growled angrily. "Or were you looking for the condensed version?"

"However did you guess?"

Gambit grinned again, not seeming to take her anger particularly seriously, which only made her angrier. "As they say in the movies, 'thataway.'" He pointed over his left shoulder to the opposite end of the alley. "My car's parked just round the corner. You weren't very hard to find. That torch lit you up like Christmas."

"Hmph," Purdey remarked, not having a smart retort for that one. She really should have kept the torch off. She was a sitting duck otherwise. She reprimanded herself mentally for the rookie mistake. "Well, I didn't hear you…" she muttered, and allowed herself a touch of admiration at his technique. Gambit must have stalked down the alley completely silently to have caught her completely unawares.

Gambit shrugged unconcernedly. "Just a knack. I've had a lot of practice."

It was Purdey's turn to arch an eyebrow. "Sneaking into girls' bedrooms?" she offered.

Gambit's lips twitched in amusement. "Or getting back into quarters after-hours. Same idea."

"No wonder you're so good at it."

"Well, practice makes perfect." The last comment was spoken by a new voice, and Purdey found herself whirling around for the second time in almost as many minutes. This time her torch picked out the smiling features of John Steed. "I'm terribly sorry, my dear. Did I startle you?"

Purdey let out a long, tense breath she'd been holding. "Are you two going to make a habit of this?" she wanted to know.

Steed frowned in confusion. "A habit of what?"

"Oh, never mind," Purdey grumbled, accepting that she'd have to keep her ears open with this pair around. She made for the back door and extracted her keyring. "Shouldn't we be working?" she asked tersely, inserting the key into the lock and turning it.

"You're quite right," Steed said seriously, reaching into his breast pocket and extracting a slip of metal. It glinted in the torchlight. "If someone will hold the light, I'll get on with my part of the proceedings."

"I'll keep a lookout," Gambit volunteered, staring off down the alley. Purdey regarded him with a touch of amusement.

"Don't you want to see the master at work?" she inquired, hoping to rub Steed's prowess in. "My class would kill to watch Steed work a lock."

"Yeah, well, I'm pretty familiar with Steed's handiwork," Gambit said without turning around, and the note in his voice was not jealousy, as Purdey had predicted. Instead there was…bitterness? A hint of betrayal? Purdey frowned and looked to Steed, but the senior agent simply flashed her a brief smile and bent over to attend to the lock. Purdey dutifully held the torch steady so he could work, but she couldn't help but glance back at Gambit, a slim silhouette framed in the contours of the alley. Here he was unreadable, an enigma. She didn't know quite what was going on between Steed and Gambit, but clearly bad blood had come into circulation somewhere along the line. Purdey suddenly felt the cold in her bones vividly. She had a sudden suspicion that a partnership was collapsing around her, and she was the last support beam, a slim, overburdened post barely holding things together. It wasn't a terribly comforting thought.

"Aha!" Steed's exclamation of success brought both her and Gambit back to reality, had them joining Steed as he eased open the back door. Purdey shone her torch into the opening beyond, her beam being joined by Gambit's as he unclipped it from his belt. The three of them crept inside quietly.

"The guards make rounds every fifteen minutes," Purdey whispered. "But they're horribly out of shape for the most part. They take the lifts, not the stairs." She took the lead, guided them toward the door that led to the stairwell. "If we're quiet we can bypass them completely on the way up to Wollerton's floor."

Steed nodded his agreement, motioned for her to go first. He followed, with Gambit bringing up the rear, watching out for any surprises.

Once they had reached the correct floor, Purdey eased open the door in the stairwell to peek out into the hallway, just in case one of the guards was still on patrol. The corridor was empty. Purdey breathed a sigh of relief and stepped through, letting Gambit and Steed follow as she took her keys out again, inserted them in the office door, and unlocked it. They filed into the office and closed the door quietly behind them.

"Right," Steed began, as Purdey and Gambit panned their torches over the outer office. "Purdey, you said that the filing cabinets weren't of interest."

Purdey nodded. "All of the important files are in a locked room down the hall."

"We'll come to that later," Steed decided, moving into the centre of the office. "Here the priority is Wollerton's desk, and that of his loyal assistant." He nodded at Doris Westbrook's bureau. "From what you've told us, Miss Bryde—"

"Purdey," she cut in automatically.

"I'm terribly sorry. Purdey, yes. As I said, from what you've told us, she's Wollerton's right hand woman. I've no doubt that she has a role to play in whatever's going on." He looked to Gambit, who was taking in the scene silently. "Gambit, why don't you and Purdey start there? I'll tackle Wollerton's myself."

Gambit's eyes glinted dangerously in the torchlight, and Purdey felt the tension in the room build again. "Of course," he said tightly. "You always know best, don't you Steed?"

Steed didn't reply immediately, but Purdey saw a warning reflected in his own eyes. "I do my best," he said simply, before turning and opening Wollerton's office door and disappearing inside. Purdey turned to Gambit.

"What was all that about?" she inquired, but Gambit simply shrugged and smiled.

"You know how it is. Blokes always trying to one-up one another. Nothing newsworthy." He dropped into a crouch in front of the desk and extracted a tool from his bomber jacket's inside pocket. "Let's get this over with, eh?"

Purdey rounded the desk and leaned against it, held the torch to illuminate the lock so he didn't have to hold his own in his mouth. "Are you competitive by nature, Mr. Gambit?"

"Ever met a man who isn't?" Gambit shot back, putting his torch on the ground and setting to work with a look of grim determination.

Purdey snorted. "Several. Some people never have the drive and give up before they start. But I don't think it's a question of sex. I think it's all down to the individual."

Gambit arched an eyebrow and chanced a glance up at her. "You wouldn't be talking about yourself, would you, Miss Bryde?"

Purdey grinned. "Does it show?"

"Just a feeling," Gambit murmured. "A little competition never hurts, but there's a line, and I like to think I know where to draw it." His voice trailed off, and Purdey knew he was talking about something else entirely. It was then that the lock clicked, and he set about easing the drawer open. Purdey whistled appreciatively.

"Well, at the risk of sounding indulgent, that was quite impressive work, Mr. Gambit," she offered, and she meant it. Maybe Steed was the master of the lock, but Mike Gambit didn't have anything to be ashamed of in that area.

Gambit's smile was surprisingly pure and genuine. "Why, Miss Bryde, that sounded suspiciously like a compliment."

"Don't get a swelled head, or it'll be your last," Purdey warned good-humouredly, coming down to kneel beside him as he opened the drawer. It was then that the knob of the office door turned, and the door eased open.

Riding on instinct alone, Purdey and Gambit automatically doused their torches, Purdey closing the drawer once more. She cast about for somewhere to hide, but Gambit was already ahead of her, grasping her elbow and pulling her down, underneath the desk. Purdey let herself be dragged into the confines of the small space. She folded her legs beneath her and tucked up close to Gambit's chest, head resting just over his heart, one hand on his shoulder, the other folded against her torso. Gambit, in turn, wrapped his arms around her and held her as close as possible, trying to fold his bent legs around her as best he could in an attempt to make himself as small as possible. Packed together as tightly as humanly possible, they waited to see if they would be discovered.

Footsteps padded softly into the office, and Purdey saw the glint of a torch as it panned over the office. Clearly it was a guard on his rounds. She closed her eyes and tried to keep her breathing as soft as possible. She wondered if Steed had managed to hide in time. They hadn't had a chance to warn him, but she still felt guilty about getting herself to safety without helping him. Still, if anyone was capable of looking after himself, it was John Steed.

Though at the moment, Mike Gambit was looking rather capable as well. Stuck in such close quarters, Purdey was getting to know her new colleague much better than she would have ever anticipated. With his chest below her ear, she could hear his heart thrumming beneath the soft cotton of his shirt, beating just as fast as her own, with, if he was anything like herself, a mix of fear and unexpected high of adrenaline. The prospect of being caught at any moment was both frightening and exhilarating, and Purdey wondered if that was normal.

For someone in this job it is, she mused to herself, shifting her hand ever-so-slightly on Gambit's shoulder. It ended up closer to his neck, and beneath the skin her fingers picked up the rush of blood coursing through his veins. She could hear his breathing, too, close to her ear, could feel the rhythm of his chest as it rose and fell. Could smell him, oddly enough. His skin was damp with a touch of perspiration, and Purdey licked her top lip, realizing that she was sweating herself, hoped she didn't end up dripping all over Gambit. That would be embarrassing, and not terribly sophisticated. She wondered if Gambit was worrying about it. Probably not. He was too busy listening to the guard's movements, and Purdey knew she should, too, but the suspense was too much. It was easier to focus on Gambit, concentrate on something else until the danger—hopefully—passed. And the scent of Gambit's sweat filling her nostrils was certainly doing the job. He didn't smell bad, strangely enough. In fact, he smelt rather nice. Something distinctly musky and masculine. Purdey hadn't ever thought of herself as the sort of girl who would be attracted to that sort of thing, but maybe adrenaline did strange things to your senses. Maybe you started to let these sorts of things go to your head. Regardless, but there wasn't much she could do about it either way, not with the way his arms were around her, holding her tightly to him. Had they been in any other situation, Purdey would have strongly objected to the intimacy of the pose, but there was no other choice this time around. And even so, she felt oddly safe, cocooned under the desk, in the dark, in Gambit's arms. Purdey hadn't let a man hold her quite this way in a very, very long time, for reasons she didn't care to think about just now. Maybe that was why they seemed to strong and sure now, why she felt so protected. At some level, she realized, she had been waiting for Gambit to take advantage of their position, for his hands to trail somewhere onto her body where they weren't welcome. But Mike Gambit seemed to be living up to his reputation as a man who only put his hands to work where they were wanted. They rested quite securely on her waist and shoulder, holding but not grasping, not possessing the way he could. Purdey sat there, listening to the breathing, the heartbeat, feeling the arms, the strong chest, and wondered why it was that, in the dark, she felt as though she were seeing Gambit more clearly than she had in the light of day.

Gambit, meanwhile, was silently praying that the guard wouldn't read too much into the unlocked office door and go exploring. If they were discovered, Purdey would be the easier one of the two for him to grab. Gambit cursed himself mentally for not pushing her in first and going in after her—then, at least, he would have been able to cover her if the guard was of the particularly nasty, shoot first and ask questions later, variety. But they wouldn't have been able to fit that way, and there hadn't been time in any case. All he could do was hold Purdey as tightly as he could, and hope no bits were sticking out into the open. He wished fervently that the guard would hurry up and leave already.

And yet, a tiny part of him didn't. After all, he wasn't going to have the chance to hold Purdey quite this close again any time soon, and that was a damned shame, he thought to himself, because she was very, very nice to hold. Something about the way she was built made her feel both strong and fragile. And she fit so well against him, her head tucked beneath his chin. He could smell her hair, that cascade of gold, and the perfume was going to his head rather dangerously. That smell again. Where did he know it from? Alas, he never had a chance to follow that line of thought, for the guard, clearly not finding anything of interest, turned and closed the door behind him. There followed a brief click as he relocked the door, then the sounds of his footsteps fading into the distance. Gambit breathed out a sigh of relief, then looked down at Purdey. Even though he couldn't see her very well, he could make out the silhouette of her profile as she lifted her head to look up at him. They sat that way for a moment, letting the buzz in their heads calm down. Then Purdey shifted away self-consciously, and Gambit let her go, let her scramble out from under the desk. He took a moment to compose himself before he crawled after her.

"Steed?" Purdey had opened Wollerton's office door a crack and was peering into the room. Her hair had partly come out of its pin-up, and she was fiddling with it in an effort to right it again. Gambit limped over to join her, massaging the cramp he'd earned in his thigh. He wasn't too worried about the senior agent. Steed was pretty good at sensing when he was about to be discovered, and could go underground in no time at all. All the same, he didn't blame Purdey for worrying, but he wasn't surprised when he looked through just in time to see Steed emerge from Wollerton's closet.

"I'm here," he whispered, creeping out into the office and turning on the desk lamp, then placing his bowler over the top to dim the light it spilled across the room. "I take it you weren't discovered?"

"No," Gambit confirmed, shaking his right leg to get the circulation going.

"We were under the desk," Purdey informed, and Steed smiled with a little more pleasure than was really appropriate under the circumstances.

"Both of you?" he inquired pleasantly, and Gambit felt the grey eyes on him, even in the dim light. He could tell the older man was already congratulating himself on how well they were 'getting on.'

"Just barely," Gambit snapped. "And I've got a touch of cramp from it." He didn't mean to sound quite so gruff, but Steed was grating on him with that self-satisfied expression of his. Purdey looked over her shoulder at him with something that almost looked like disappointment on her face. What's that in aid of? Was she really upset that he was making out that it was unpleasant to be under there with her? Or had he cut off the blood to his brain, too? "We kept each other warm, though," he added with a grin, and Purdey couldn't but smirk before falling into her usual role.

"If we'd gotten any hotter, I may have taken my chances with the guard," she countered, and turned on her heel to head back to the desk that had provided their refuge. "Anyway, we're not getting anywhere hiding under the furniture. Let's see what's in here." She tugged open the drawer he'd unlocked earlier and extracted a single, plain folder, flipped it open on the desk top, and used her torch to illuminate it. Gambit joined her, looking over her right shoulder, reaching past her arm to lift the top page.

"They look like accounts," he observed, using his own torch to add to the light spilling over the pages. "Last quarter's, I'd guess. Yes." He tapped the corner of the top page, pointing out the date. He paged through the pile, and Purdey saw a pair of lines appear between his eyes in a sort of '11' as he frowned.

"What is it?" she inquired, looking back at the pages, trying to see what he saw.

"Something's not right…" Gambit said quietly, setting his torch down so he had both hands free to spread out the pages. "Look, there's a lot of money moving around between whatever these are." He ran a finger down the column of numbers on the left, each clearly signifying some sort of entity. "Whatever these are—companies, back accounts, projects—there's a lot of money moving between them, but if you look beyond the white noise, the money's all ending up in one of two places." He pointed each of them out in turn. "That shouldn't be. Nothing's this convoluted by accident. Someone's trying to hide where the money's going, and I suspect not for entirely innocent reasons." He straightened up, tapped the top of the desk thoughtfully. "Can you find out what those numbers stand for?"

"I can try," Purdey said, looking up at him with a touch of admiration. "How did you…?" He tore his gaze from the pages and looked her way blankly.

"How did I what?"

"Do that. I mean, you spotted that connection like..." She snapped her fingers to demonstrate. "How?"

Gambit smiled, and it was surprisingly modest. "Practice," he said simply. "You learn what to look for. And it helps to have a suspicious mind. You're too innocent still, Miss Bryde, but I'm sure we'll cure you of that soon enough."

Purdey grinned back. "Who's to say I haven't been cured already?"

"Don't say that. I have to have some goals in life."

Purdey was about to counter that, but it was then that Steed's voice broke into the conversation.

"I've some numbers of my own, if either of you care to step into the office."

Purdey and Gambit exchanged glances, like two wayward schoolchildren caught whispering while the teacher tried to explain an important point. They gathered up their pages between the two of them and moved to where Steed was bent over a similar array of feuilles. He looked up at them as they moved around the desk to flank him. "Now," he began, "what do you have?"

"Accounts," Purdey replied, showing him one of her pages. "Money moving in and out of…something. They're all labeled numerically, with no indication as to what they are, but I could comb through the filing cabinets. Mr. Gambit seems to think all of the money is ending up in one of two places."

Steed arched an eyebrow. "Really? Which two?"

"These, near as I can tell," Gambit informed, flicking through his pages until he found the right ones. "And I don't think all of the money's ending up there, just a big enough slice of the pie that it should put up red flags. Unless someone's fooled by the creative accounting."

"Many people are," Steed said knowingly, looking at Gambit's findings with an appraising eye. "And Wollerton's never had a hint of scandal regarding the books. He's only interested in money as far as it funds his research, no more."

Purdey's eyes lit up. "Research! Projects!" Gambit and Steed looked at her with incomprehension, but she leaned across and stabbed at one of Gambit's pages with her finger. "Those numbers. I thought they looked familiar. I've been going through Wollerton's files all day. He labels some of his research projects numerically, no name at all. I'd wager every single one of these numbers links up to some project, some piece of technology, or a contract."

Steed's eyes flashed approvingly. "Excellent, Miss Bryde."

"Purdey," she said automatically.

"My apologies. But I think you've found the nub. My numbers correspond with Gambit's, only Wollerton's desk seems to have produced a supply list, rather than the finances."

"Supplies?" Gambit inquired, leaning over to look at Steed's papers for a change. "You think this is the list of everything he needs to order for his job?"

"I'd wager that it was a fair assumption. And like your finances, someone's been diverting supply orders from the projects they were originally ordered for, to…" He checked the numbers. "Why, it would seem to be the same two projects."

"What a coincidence," Purdey said wryly, looking at the numbers. "Give me a moment, and I'll check the files." She strode back to the outer office, figure cutting a rather shapely silhouette in the dark. Gambit and Steed watched her go.

"You two seem to be getting along," Steed murmured, ensuring Purdey couldn't hear him in the next room.

"She's shaping up nicely," Gambit quipped, waggling an eyebrow at Steed. The senior agent clicked his tongue.

"Shape isn't in it. Smell seems to be the order of the day."

Gambit frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Well, unless you've taken to using expensive perfume as aftershave, I'd say she's been rubbing off on you, at the very least while the pair of you have been spending some time in close quarters," Steed said, with just a touch of smugness. "I'm delighted you've taken to your new colleague so well."

Gambit's frown deepened into a scowl. "You really think you've got me all worked out, don't you? Push the right levers, and I'll behave myself. Well, it's not going to work. I'm not going to be manipulated, and I sure as hell am not going to let you use Purdey to get to me. She deserves better than starting her career off as a pawn in one of your damn games."

Steed's face lost all traces of humour. "You're overestimating yourself, Gambit. If I didn't think Miss Bryde was suited to this assignment, I wouldn't have chosen her. I'm using her, yes, but only in ability to act as an asset to this assignment and the team. The fact that this provides an excellent opportunity for you to work on your, ah, interpersonal issues is merely the icing on the cake."

"You do know I'd be a little more trusting if you didn't go sneaking around behind my back?" Gambit hissed back. "If you bothered to say things to my face instead of pulling strings so others would do it for you—"

"I don't know what you mean," Steed cut in sharply, and Gambit could feel the barely-restrained anger permeating through the room. "And incidentally, when did it become 'Purdey,' and not 'Miss Bryde'?"

Gambit's fists tightened to immobility. "Don't you dare use Purdey to deflect away from you—"

"Neither of those project numbers are in the files, but that doesn't mean we're wrong." Purdey's cut-glass tones broke the tension as she returned, laden with several folders. She set them down on Wollerton's desk "They're probably down the hall in the confidential film room. But I did manage to find some of the other numbers—" She broke off when she saw Steed and Gambit. Even in the dim light filtering from the hooded lamp, she could see the tension in their faces. "Am I interrupting something?" she inquired, one eyebrow canting up with interest.

Steed smiled first, scrubbing away the anger instantly. "Nothing, my dear," he assured. "Now, then, how did you manage to look up the other project numbers? There are an awful lot of them, and you only looked at the two of interest…"

"I was blessed with a photographic memory," Purdey said brightly. "At least, for some things. It's not foolproof, but occasionally, if I'm focused, something solidifies, and I pick up all sorts of things. It was useful come exam time."

"I can imagine," Steed said with a touch of admiration. "A useful skill indeed."

"I get it from my father," Purdey said, then bit her lip, as though she hadn't meant to add that last part. She ducked her head suddenly, as though overcome, and it was Steed and Gambit's turn to be puzzled. But when she looked up again the smile was back in place, the blue eyes bright and excited. "Anyway, there are several projects here. Some of them are fairly mundane—small commissions to build automated devices for businesses, that sort of thing. But there are also a number of government projects, including a new missile guidance system in the works." She opened one file and handed it over. "That project's been abused both on the accounts and supply side. I doubt Wollerton is funneling all of Her Majesty's resources off for some greater good."

"No." Steed read the file, with Gambit looking over his shoulder. "I'm sure the Minister would be very interested to hear about this. I think I may have to pay him a call come morning." He sucked his teeth in contemplation, then glanced at Gambit. "Let's see who else Wollerton has been borrowing from, shall we?"

They spent a good quarter hour flicking through the files, before deciding they were pushing their luck as the time for the next patrol approached, and spent the last few minutes helping Purdey return all the files back to the desks and cabinets in the correct order. It was only then that they ventured back into the corridor, moving silently in the dark for the file room with all of the confidential papers. Purdey picked the lock this time, with Steed and Gambit keeping watch. Using one of her keys in conjunction with a pick offered by Gambit, she managed it, felt a thrill of triumph as the lock clicked. She looked up, and saw a congratulatory glint in Steed's eye, felt her cheeks flush in spite of the darkness, and hurried inside before he could sense her almost childlike glee at having John Steed of all people look at her with pride.

The filing cabinets were locked, too, but with three of them at work, the time to gain access to them all was minimized. Both project numbers had their own files, but the contents were sparse, only stating that Wollerton had initiated them, and was supervising them closely, plus a few financial details. There was also an address assigned to each, dictating the place of installation. One was recognized by Steed as the location of Wollerton's estate. The other was the office building itself. In the basement.

"I think we've delayed visiting our final stop long enough," Steed murmured, carefully returning the files to their drawer. "Though I regret that we weren't able to discover more here."

"Wollerton asked Miss Westbrook to retrieve some papers from here today," Purdey remembered. "There might be more, but they may be with him. I'll look out for them when they're returned and see if I can come back for them later."

Steed's pleased smile reemerged. "Will you be able to get back in?"

Purdey grinned. "I think I'll get better with practice, not worse," she said cockily. "I've learned a lot tonight."

"Excellent," Steed praised, and Gambit bit back the urge to snort. The way the pair of them were looking at each other didn't sit terribly well in his gut. It really wasn't fair at all. Steed reeled in the starry-eyed new recruits all too easily. A twenty-year jump on the game didn't really give anyone else a sporting chance, but Gambit usually fared pretty well on his own. But there was something about seeing Steed with Purdey that set him on edge more than usual, which didn't make sense. He barely knew the girl. And yet, he remembered the hint of perfume and swore that they'd crossed paths someplace before. If only he could remember where.

"We had better be going before our friend the guard returns." Steed's voice broke into his thoughts, and Gambit jerked back to reality with a start. "Miss Bryde, lead the way."

She inclined her head slightly, as though executing a miniaturized curtsy, and did as she was bid. She guided them to the lift and hit the call button, checked her watch. The guards were due for their break, and hopefully wouldn't notice the lights on the indicator panel winking on and off. The lift arrived swiftly, and the three of them stepped inside. Purdey hit the bottom button on the panel, and the doors closed. They rode down in silence, only the sounds of three sets of lungs at work puncturing the quiet. Purdey looked from one to the other out of the corner of her eye, saw Gambit's jaw working slightly, in what appeared to be a characteristic of anger or annoyance or anxiety, or any number of words beginning with 'a.' Steed, on the other hand, was outwardly cool, but there was something about the way he held himself on such a steadfast, rigid parallel to Gambit that made her think of the way they'd been back in the office, and wondered again at the nature of their association. From what she'd been able to discern, Steed had been the only man capable of persuading Gambit to willingly go into a partnership, which she would have thought was the hardest part. She wondered where things had gone wrong.

The lift doors opened, and Purdey put the thoughts away for when she had time to deal with them. She stepped out into a dimly lit, grey corridor, with plain cement floors and walls, and a few plain, stark doors lining it. Gambit and Steed followed her, both taking in the new surroundings with a quick efficiency she hoped to learn and perfect when she was a proper agent. She went over and tried one door, peered inside, only to find that it was the boiler room. She closed it again, opened her mouth to report her findings, but Gambit and Steed were already halfway down the corridor, both staring steadfastly at the wall. Purdey frowned, hurried over to join them, ask them what they were looking at. But the moment she was there, she found there was no need. The wall before them was not a wall at all, but a huge, shiny pair of silver steel doors, gleaming away under the meagre lighting and the beam from Gambit's torch. She added her own light to his, played it over the glossy surface.

"Do you think this is the project in the files?" she asked unnecessarily. Of course it was. What else would it be? All the same, she thought someone ought to say it out loud.

"I'd be very disappointed if it was the broom cupboard," Steed quipped, removing his bowler from his head so he could step in close and press an ear to the cool surface. Purdey and Gambit followed suit, leaning in and listening hard to whatever was ensconced behind the doors. Purdey detected a low hum, a gentle pulse of energy as it fed into some unknown destination. Occasionally the pulse changed tempo, subtlety picking up the pace, only to slow down again. She pulled her head away, looked to Gambit and Steed, who were regarding the door with identical expressions of unease.

"A computer?" she hazarded. "Some sort of advanced processor?"

"Possibly," Gambit agreed. "It's definitely Wollerton's line. He may be making advances he doesn't want the world to know about just yet. Or the government." He ran a hand over the steel. "But he doesn't mind using the government coffers to fund it." He looked to the senior agent. "Steed, what do you think? Computer?"

Steed's eyes were still riveted on the doors. "Yes," he said quietly. "It might be a computer." But the tone of his voice was that of a man who was all-too-used to having his expectations not only proven wrong, but blown violently out of the water. "But I wouldn't wager even money on it, not without having a look inside first."

"That won't be easy," Gambit replied, with mild annoyance. He was panning his torch over a box set into the wall to the right of the doors. It was unadorned except for a keyhole in the middle. He traced it with a finger. "I'd need more time and a hell of a lot more tools than I can fit in my pocket to force this one, and they'd know it was forced." He ran his fingers along the seam on the side. The key clearly opened a small door that, presumably, hid the means to open the large slabs of steel. "That's the way in. Code, wires, whatever. We won't see what's in there without seeing what's in here first."

Steed returned his bowler to his head, moved to join him. "No," he agreed. He looked to Purdey. "Do you have any idea how we might get in, Miss Bryde?"

Purdey thought, too distracted for the moment to bother correcting her name. "I've never seen Wollerton come down here," she said slowly. "But I think I saw Miss Westbrook go down once. The light on the lift indicator panel definitely stopped at the basement." She thought back over the scene, when she had passed the other woman in the hall outside the office. "She had a keyring with her. Like mine, only with more keys. One of them could possibly open that box."

Steed's face lit up with that smile again, and Purdey felt a grin tug at her own lips automatically. "Right. Then we'll have to arrange for you to, ah, 'acquire' those keys. And have enough time to use them."

Purdey's face fell doubtfully. "I'd need some sort of distraction if I was going to be out of the office that long," she pointed out.

For the first time since she'd seen them together, Gambit and Steed exchanged pleasantly smug glances. Gambit looked back at her confidently.

"I think we can manage," he said mysteriously.


	8. The Door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, John Steed, and Thomas McKay. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended
> 
> Timeline: First in a series. Takes place in late December, 1975, a full four months before the start of the series in April, 1976. It is strongly recommended that you go back and read the previous story in the arc, Lost Boys. Those interested in the rest of the series are, of course, invited to read the subsequent stories in the arc.
> 
> For more information about the series, please see my profile.
> 
> \-----------------------------------

"Excuse me, young lady. We're here to see your boss."

Purdey looked up from her typing, mouth already forming the first word in what would be her standard-issue, "Do you have an appointment?" She never got farther than the first syllable. She froze the instant she laid eyes on the speaker and his companion, and the words died on her lips. Steed and Gambit were standing there, decked out in fall uniform, Steed the tans and browns of the army, Gambit the sleek black and gold of a naval commanding officer. They regarded her, each almost winning in their separate battles to conceal the small smiles fighting to surface. Across the way from Purdey's desk, Miss Westbrook had already risen to her feet, moving to meet the new visitors.

"Gentlemen, I'm afraid I cannot locate you in Mr. Wollerton's diary. If there's been some mistake…"

"None at all, dear lady," Steed assured, his broad, friendly face beaming down at her. He had a hat and stick tucked under his left arm, and took her hand with his right. "Major John Equus, Army Intelligence, and my naval equivalent, Commander Michael Gamble." Gambit took his turn with the hand, smiling charmingly. Purdey leaned back in her chair to watch the display, and tapped a pen against her lips to keep herself from laughing. Truth be told, both men did their uniforms justice, filling them out nicely with square shoulders and good lines, and looked entirely believable, but the false surnames were a bit much. Gambit seemed to sense her amusement, shot her an ironic look with one canted eyebrow. Steed was still busy laying on the charm.

"I'm sorry, but I can't help you. Neither of you have an appointment," Doris Westbrook repeated, with genuine regret, and Steed's face was sympathetic to her plight.

"Yes, I know," he soothed. "We've dropped in unannounced. Very presumptuous, but the people upstairs have suddenly seen the need to cut our budget, and we'd like to review our contracts before the cuts go into effect in the New Year. If we can convince the top brass that the money is being put to good use, we may save ourselves a very unpleasant hangover in January."

"I see," Miss Westbrook murmured, eyes locked with Steed's as though she were in some sort of trance. "Well, I'd like to help, but—"

"There's an opening now, Miss Westbrook," Purdey cut in, the picture of eager assistance. "I've just checked the book, and there's an hour free before he has to meet the people from Hiroshima."

Doris pursed her lips, clearly annoyed at both the interruption, and the fact that she had not been the one to find the slot and accommodate the charming Major. "Mr. Wollerton does have work to do between appointments, Miss Bryde," she reminded tersely. "But if you wish to interrupt him and inform about these gentlemen, that is your prerogative." She went to her desk and picked up a stack of forms. "I must get these downstairs, so you will have to be in charge of the office until I return." She turned to Gambit and Steed. "Miss Bryde will look after you, gentlemen. She will see if Mr. Wollerton can squeeze you in at such short notice, won't you Miss Bryde?"

"Oh, don't go to any trouble on our account," Steed protested, but Doris simply smiled.

"No trouble at all, Major. Miss Bryde is only with us for a short time. If it is somewhat shorter than intended, there is no harm done. I'll leave you to it, Miss Bryde." She smiled smugly at Purdey and quit the room. Steed and Gambit raised their eyebrows in also perfect unison and turned amused expressions on Purdey.

"She must be lovely to work with all day," Gambit said sarcastically. "All sunshine and roses, that one."

Purdey shook her head and sighed. "She doesn't like to be beaten at her own game."

"Well, it wasn't for nothing." Gambit nodded at her desk, and Purdey followed his line of sight to see Doris' keyring resting on surface. He mouthed the word 'keys' at her, and Purdey nodded to indicate she understood.

"Just as soon as I've gotten you in. Really, Gamble and Equus?" she inquired, one eyebrow canted upward.

Gambit smirked. "Never could resist an in-joke."

"I wish you had. It took every ounce of my discipline to keep from groaning." She depressed the button on her intercom and spoke.

"Mr. Wollerton?"

"What is it?" snapped the box.

Purdey scowled at the speaker, but continued, voice sweet. "There's a pair of gentlemen here to see you. They're from the military, and they need to discuss some contracts with you…"

There was a forceful 'hrumph' from the box, but it was soon followed by, "I'll see them in a moment. Tell them to wait."

"Yes, sir." Purdey switched off the intercom, and regarded Gambit and Steed. "You heard the man."

"All too well," Steed acknowledged wryly. "I can see our meeting is going to lean toward the formalities."

"He's not so much lacking in the humour department as completely bereft," Purdey quipped, standing and striding over to Doris Westbrook's desk to retrieve the keyring. "But I'll need you to keep him occupied for as long as possible if I'm going to have a decent go at this." She shook the keys for them to see.

"At your service, dear lady," Steed almost purred, treating her to a salute. Purdey smirked and saluted him back, then managed to turn the gesture into brushing a lock of hair back from her forehead when Wollerton's office door suddenly opened.

"Miss Bryde," Wollerton snapped, leaning out of his office door, and looking from Gambit and Steed to her. "If you're quite through fraternising, might you be able to see your way to typing those letters I asked for?"

Purdey smiled broadly. "Of course, Mr. Wollerton," she said charmingly. The instant his eyes left her, Purdey's face scrunched up as she made a horrible face at her boss for Steed and Gambit's benefit, and it was all Mike could do not to laugh. Wollerton, to his credit, seemed to sense the gesture, but when he turned back to her. Purdey's huge smile was back in place, as broad and cheery as before. "Major Equus, and Commander Gamble," she introduced, indicating for them to enter. They moved to shake hands with Wollerton, mouthing formalities, and Purdey paused for a moment to watch them at work. They both wore their uniforms with a practiced ease, and she reminded herself that John Steed had been in the army once upon a time, at least according to what she'd heard in class, and Gambit, of course, had told her about his time in the Navy, starting when he was barely more than a child. But there was something about seeing them suited up, even if it was for cover purposes, that made her think of them as people with pasts, not just a pair of enigmatic, suave spies. How much more history was lurking beneath the surface, and how much of it would she ever be privy to? She found herself wanting to know more than the official briefs, more than workplace rumour and thinly sketched skill sets. Gambit glanced over his shoulder at her briefly, indicated with his eyes that she should get going, and Purdey nodded slightly to assure him that she would. She waited for the office door to close before letting out a long breath. There would be more time to ponder the mysteries of her temporary partners when all this was over with. Right now, there was a job to do. She hurried to the door, and out into the corridor.

The lift seemed to take an age to reach the basement, and Purdey counted off each floor impatiently, one high-heeled foot tapping as an outlet for her nervous energy. Finally, the lift shuddered to a stop, and Purdey held her breath as the doors pulled back. The corridor before her was empty, thankfully, and she stepped out onto the cold, unforgiving concrete, footsteps echoing in the cavernous space. Purdey knew she didn't have much time before Doris returned and wondered why she wasn't at her desk, so she broke into run and dashed down to the large door Gambit, Steed, and she had discovered the night before. The panel was as they'd left it, locked tight, keyhole gleaming dully in the light from the overheads. Purdey examined the keyhole, traced the opening with her index finger to get an idea of the general shape. Then she looked down at the keyring in her hand, silently flipped through each key in turn, evaluating the arrangement of the teeth, gauging the fit. One small, silver key halfway down the ring looked promising, and Purdey inserted it into the keyhole experimentally. It fit, and Purdey allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction as she turned it in the lock and eased open the door over the panel. Her triumph was short-lived, however, and Purdey's heart sank as she took in a keypad underneath the metal. A keypad meant a code. She observed the set of 10 black buttons, each displaying a white number, 0 through 9, and one large red 'enter' button, with growing dismay. She didn't have a code, and she was quickly running out of time before she had to go. Purdey bit her lip and glanced down at the keyring, as though hoping it would provide some answers. It said "Wollerton Enterprises" on the rectangle of metal which hung from the ring, but that wasn't particularly notable. The keys she'd been issued for the filing cabinets, front door, and office were attached to a similar ring. But just when Purdey was preparing to give up and admit defeat, she noticed a series of small bumps below the letters. Frowning, she held the ring up for closer examination. The bumps resolved into symbols. And not just any symbols. Russian symbols.

Russian number symbols.

Purdey's grin returned. She could read Russian. Her father had taught it to her long ago, with the aid of some of the untranslated works of Dostoevsky, and others. It never occurred to her at the time why her father should know Russian, not until…Purdey pushed the thoughts aside. That wasn't important now. All that mattered was that she knew Russian, and she could read the series of four numbers.

"Seven, nine, six, eight," she murmured under her breath, punching each number in as she went, praying that these numbers were the code. Her heart was pounding in her ears as her finger hovered over the red button that would engage the doors, if she had gotten it right. What would happen if she hadn't? What would she do if some sort of alarm went off? Maybe it would be better to go back and tell Gambit and Steed about what she'd found, and quit pressing her luck. But then she'd have to give the key back, and who knew when she'd have another chance to get in here, and they'd look at her like some silly little girl who couldn't make a decision without someone holding her hand. No. She signed up for this. She would take the risk, and any consequences that followed. Purdey set her jaw determinedly, and pressed.

There was a beep, and then a dull roar as some mechanism was engaged. Purdey took a step back in surprise, watched in awe as the huge door started to slide aside. She felt almost giddy with excitement. She'd done it! She'd actually done it! She'd solved the puzzle, gotten in on all on her own. Now she was going to see what was inside, and then she could tell Gambit and Steed all about it. Oh, this was going to be marvellous!

The door was sliding aside with agonising slowness, but the ever-widening crack spilled bright light out into the corridor. Purdey stepped in closer, tried to look through the crack to see what was inside, but her eyes had adjusted to the dimness of the corridor, and the brightness blinded her. She waited impatiently for the door to open enough to let her squeeze inside, and when it did, she curled one hand around the door to force her way in. Before she could move any farther, however, Purdey saw an even brighter light in the distance. As she watched, it grew in intensity, then, with no warning, it exploded outward. Purdey was struck with an overpowering, invisible force that knocked her backward and off her feet. Her mind switched off on its journey to unconsciousness, and by the time she hit the ground, she knew nothing but blackness.

Mike Gambit tapped his armrest irritably, doing his best to pretend he was listening to Wollerton explain the new missile guidance system while he kept one eye on the clock. Purdey had been gone almost ten minutes now. He knew she hadn't come back because he hadn't heard her come back into the outer office, and he'd been listening. Ten minutes should have been more than enough time to go down to the basement get into the room, have a look, and then get out again. Any longer was pushing it. Gambit was certain Purdey knew that. And yet she hadn't returned. Only one explanation came to mind.

Something had gone wrong.

Steed was clearly worried, too, but anyone but Gambit wouldn't have known it from the performance he was putting on, sipping Wollerton's brandy and making all the right noises at appropriate intervals. Gambit couldn't understand how the man could just sit there when Purdey could be in deadly danger. Well, he wasn't going to let her suffer for being drawn into his sphere of influence. He put aside his own brandy glass, got to his feet.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Wollerton," he interrupted, just as Wollterton was switching between blueprints, "but I just remembered I have to make a call to the office. Would you mind if I used your phone? Somewhere private?"

Wollerton nodded. "By all means. There's an unoccupied office across the hall. It should have a working telephone. Help yourself."

Gambit smiled gratefully. "Thanks," he replied. "Sorry about this." Steed was looking at him knowingly, and Gambit knew the senior agent saw through his excuse. He knew he was going to check on Purdey, and the eyes told Mike he disapproved. Live with it, you bastard. You play it your way, and I'll play it mine. But he only smiled and left the office without so much as a second glance. The telephone excuse ought to buy him enough time to find Purdey and get her out of trouble, if she was in it. He only hoped he wouldn't be too late.

He could smell her perfume lingering in the lift on the way down, and again marveled at not only how much it suited her, but how familiar it seemed. He already recognized it as her regular scent, but it never failed to trigger something in the back of his mind, something he never quite managed to reach. This time was no different. Gambit worked his jaw in frustration and wished the damn lift would hurry up. The smell told him one thing—Purdey had gone down, but she hadn't come up again. The scent was too faint for her to have been inside in the last few minutes. That was hopeful, at least. It meant no one else had taken her off somewhere, either. The basement was only accessible by lift. That meant she would be easier to find. She couldn't have gotten far.

The lift doors finally opened, and Gambit immediately saw a figure lying rag-doll limp in the corridor ahead. He knew instantly that it was Purdey, and bolted out of the lift, running at full tilt toward the crumpled form.

She was lying on her back, arms splayed out to either side, hips twisted to the right so her long legs bent at the knee, and the soles of her feet faced the opposite direction from her head, which had lolled to one side, scattering the blonde hair onto the concrete in a cascade. The ragdoll pose looked uncomfortable, and reminded Gambit rather too vividly of a corpse that had taken the quick way down. He felt the bile rise in his throat. If she was dead… Gambit didn't know what he'd do, but he sure as hell knew it wouldn't be good. If Purdey had died, alone, with him a few floors up in the same building, when he could have done something, he'd never forgive himself. True, he'd only known her a few days, but he already felt something between them, the sort of chemistry Steed mentioned being present in his most successful partnerships. Gambit knew—had known almost instantly—that he was attracted to her, but there was something here beyond an admiration of her legs and the bright blue eyes. The ones he wished would open. Steed was the one who'd thrown her in the deep end, even though she hadn't finished her training. He was supposed to counter that. He'd promised himself he'd keep an eye on her, not just because she was a girl and he knew how unforgiving the enemy could be to the opposite sex, but because she hadn't been fully armed for the task. Purdey was formidable, he couldn't deny that, but she just didn't have the experience, and he meant to watch over her until she did. If he'd failed in his vow to protect her, what good was he to anyone, Steed included?

Gambit reached the body and dropped to his knees beside her, gently turned her head so she was facing the ceiling. He felt a rush of relief when her skin proved warm to the touch, and holding a finger beneath her nose betrayed the telltale current of air that told him she was still breathing. He turned his concern from survival to injury, sliding his fingers into her hair to search her scalp for a headwound. The blonde tresses were smooth and silky to the touch, and slid through his fingers almost seductively, but Gambit wasn't in the mood to appreciate it. He gently raised her head, felt the back of her neck. Nothing. No bumps. No bruises. No cuts. A quick glance at the rest of her body didn't reveal anything unusual—no broken bones. No even a sprain. There was no lingering smell of chloroform in the air, either, nor a hint of gas. Gambit was puzzled. He had been certain she had been hit from behind, at the very least, but there was no sign on injury at all. Purdey's body and face were still…well, perfect. Her clothes were still all straight. She hadn't been touched, hadn't fought anyone off. And if someone had knocked her out, there hadn't been any attempt to move her, take her away. It was as though she had suddenly fallen asleep where she stood, and simply collapsed.

Just like Stanbury. Gambit worked his jaw and wondered if it was too much of a coincidence. He looked up at the panel, the reason for Purdey's visit to the basement. The keyring dangled innocuously, the key still inserted in the keyhole. Gambit could see that the panel had concealed a keypad, wondered if Purdey had been able to crack it. The door was closed, preventing him from seeing anything interesting. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the lift roaring into action behind him. Gambit glanced over his shoulder, saw the indicator slowly start counting up the floors, then stop. And then, with agonizing slowness, it began to descend again. Someone was coming down to the basement. He knew it.

Gambit cursed under his breath and shot to his feet, slammed the panel closed, and removed the keyring before using his sleeve to wipe away any fingerprints that may have been left behind. He shoved the keys in his pocket and turned to Purdey, who hadn't even begun to regain consciousness. With no alternative, he bent and gathered her up in his arms, marveled at how even in unconsciousness she maintained her grace, figure molding to his arms, neck curving back in a graceful arc as her head lolled back. The profile of her jaw was quite possibly one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen, but he shook his head to chase the thoughts away. He normally didn't study women with quite this much intensity, but there was something about Purdey that made him want to look and keep looking. It was increasingly difficult for him to keep his eyes off her, but the lift counting down the seconds was serving as a pretty good distracter. He glanced around for some place to hide them both, settled on a small supply closet just across from the large door. He worked the knob as best he could with Purdey in his arms, slipped inside, and closed the door behind him. It left them both in total blackness, but the brief glimpse he'd gotten before he closed the door told him there was a crate near the wall, and he felt his way over to deposit Purdey on it in a sitting position, let the wall take her weight as he leaned her back against it. Only when he was certain she wouldn't slip did he turn back to the door, and open it a crack so he could peer through.

The lift doors opened, and Gambit heard footsteps echo down the corridor, along with a pair of voices. The high ceilings meant the words were distorted at first, but the closer they got, the more Gambit could make out.

"…probably just a false alarm," one man's voice was saying. "It does flare once in awhile, you know."

"I know," a second voice snapped impatiently, "but Wollerton's not paying us to take chances. It can't hurt to look."

"No, it can't," the first agreed, although it didn't sound terribly worried about what they might find. The voices were close now, and Gambit eventually saw two figures move into his very narrow line of sight, but he could see so little that he could only confirm that they were both men, and they were checking on the panel. As he watched, one of them slid a key into the lock and turned, opened the panel, and punched in a code. The large door slid to one side, and Gambit strained to see what lay beyond, but the two men were successfully blocking his view.

"See?" the first said to his partner. "Nothing to worry about. Place is clean."

"Hmm," said the second, not sounding convinced. "I still say it's rather odd for it to flare up at this time of day."

"You a tech wizard like the lot upstairs?" the first pressed.

"No," the second admitted.

"Then leave the worrying about that sort of thing to them. I'm just here for security, and there's no one here. So that's me back upstairs, then."

"Hmph," the second grumbled, but didn't comment further. The door closed, the panel was sealed back up, and soon Gambit could hear the lift roaring into action. It was only then that he opened the closet door to let the light in and went to check on Purdey. She hadn't roused, and Gambit crouched in front of her to tap first one cheek, then the other.

"Come on, Purdey," he urged under his breath. "Purdey, Purdey, Purdey-girl. You're not hurt, and damned if I'm going to let you stay in a coma for the rest of your life. Come on, Purdey!"

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered the fact that he was calling her by her Christian name, and, at the same time, admitted to himself that he had been calling her that in his head ever since they'd met. It was only her stubborn insistence of keeping him at a professional distance with honourifics that made him want to retaliate by doing the same, no matter how childish that was. At the moment, he didn't care what she called him, so long as she woke up to say it. Just when he was starting to wonder if he needed to call an ambulance, her brow furrowed, and she groaned. "Miss Bryde?" he said urgently, automatically switching back to the status quo now that she seemed all right.

She cracked one blue eye open slightly and regarded him blearily. "Gambit…?" she hazarded, her eye clearly not focussing very well.

"I'm here," he assured her, and breathed a sigh of relief when she reached a hand up to rub her head. Motor control was always a good thing. He laid a hand on her forearm, just to assure her he was there. Or to assure himself that she was all right. "How are you feeling?"

"Fuzzy," Purdey said simply, managing to open the other eye. "Like my brain's working, but all the messages are taking twice as long." She let the hand drop, sighed and closed her eyes again. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you."

Purdey's eyes shot open in alarm. "Why? How long have I been gone?"

"Now?" Gambit consulted his watch on the inside of his wrist. "It'll be twenty minutes soon."

"What?" Purdey screeched in panic. "I have to get back. If Doris notices the keys are gone—" She moved to stand up, but only managed to lean forward and lose her balance. She fell against Gambit's chest as he caught her, and he got another dose of her perfume as her hair fell into his face. She felt so good against him, fit so well, as though she'd been made for him. But now was not the time to reflect on whether or not people were made in matching sets.

"Easy," he soothed, gently easing her back onto the crate so she could brace her back onto the wall. "You've been unconscious. Give yourself a minute."

"But what will I say to-?"

"We'll figure something out," Gambit assured, with a comforting smile. "Trust me, Miss Bryde."

She smirked. "You're asking much too much of a woman not in full possession of her faculties."

Gambit smirked back, but didn't comment. Purdey frowned as the obvious occurred to her. "What happened?" she wanted to know.

Gambit snorted. "I was hoping you could tell me. You'd been gone ten minutes, and I thought that was cause to be worried. I'm supposedly making a call to HQ in an empty office upstairs, by the way, so they won't miss me for a bit." He paused and wondered how long he could push it before people started missing him, too. "I came down here, and you were lying on the floor in front of that door, unconscious. The door was shut, the key was in the lock, and there was no one else around. Don't you remember what happened?"

Purdey bit her lip. "I remember opening the panel," she said carefully. "And I remember figuring out the keycode. It's on the keyring. In Russian." Gambit's eyebrows shot up at that piece of information, but he didn't interrupt. "I punched it in, and the doors started to open. There was a bright light…" She frowned in thought, and Gambit could tell she was struggling to remember. "I couldn't see what was inside. I might have if I'd had a few more seconds, but then everything went black, and the next thing I knew, I woke up here." She felt the back of her skull for injury, but Gambit shook his head.

"You weren't clobbered," he told her. "I checked you for injuries while you were out. There isn't a mark on you."

Purdey raised an eyebrow. "Really? And just how thoroughly did you check, Mr. Gambit?"

"Not thoroughly enough that I'm due a slap," Gambit quipped. "Even I have my limits, and unconsciousness is one of them. No, you weren't hit, and I didn't smell gas. I couldn't tell you how you were knocked out, but I'd wager even money that it has something to do with that damn room." He glanced over his shoulder at the door. "I think when you opened it up you triggered some sort of security mechanism. Two men came down shortly after I did to check on it, said there'd been a flare-up."

Purdey's eyes widened in alarm. "The keys—"

"Are with me," Gambit informed. "Just like you. They didn't bother to conduct a search, thank goodness, or we'd really be stuck." He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I'd go and take another look, but I think we've used up our chances for today. You're right. We need to get back."

Purdey looked disappointed. "But we don't know any more than we did before."

"Don't be so sure," Gambit countered, offering her a hand and helping her up. "We know the room has some sort of security, we know it flares on occasion, and we know about the Russian." He paused meaningfully. "And even though you might feel a bit fuzzy, you're lucky. Stanbury and Emerson didn't wake up at all."

Purdey gasped. "Do you think it's the same cause?"

Gambit sighed as he helped her down the corridor. "I don't know, but there wasn't a mark on them, either. At least, nothing that hadn't been caused by collapsing, or hadn't been inflicted after the fact. No, I don't think it's a coincidence. I think whatever hit you was the same thing that hit them, only set to stun."

"Thank goodness for that," Purdey said with a shiver.

Gambit nodded. "You can say that again," he murmured, and hit the call button for the lift.

There was no one in the hall when the lift returned to Wollerton's floor, thankfully, and Purdey and Gambit stepped out and set about straightening hair and clothes, just in case anything had fallen out of place during the events downstairs. Gambit remembered the contents of his pocket, extracted the keyring.

"Your keys," he said to Purdey, who took them with a sigh, let herself lean back so she could seek support from the wall. She still felt a little woozy from her ordeal, and at times her brain didn't seem interested in communicating with her body. Right now the wall seemed very reassuring.

"If Doris Westbrook is already in the office, she's bound to notice they're missing." She tortured her bottom lip worriedly. "What will we do then?"

"We'll come up with something," Gambit said confidently. "I'll go in first and get the lay of the land. Wait a minute or so, and then follow me. It's possible she hasn't noticed yet. If I have to, I'll distract her until you can get the keys back. Pretend you found them on the floor or something if you have to."

Purdey nodded. "Right." One side of her mouth quirked up in a sheepish smile. "And thank you."

Gambit looked bemused. "For what?"

"For coming to get me," Purdey elaborated, shifting shyly and averting her eyes. "I know I shouldn't have needed help, but it's…appreciated…all the same."

Gambit chuckled. "I've had to do worse things than chase after you, Miss Bryde. Rest assured, as long as I'm around, if you need someone to come for you, I'll be more than happy to take the job."

Purdey's smile broadened and became a little more cheerful, and she met his eyes again. "Oddly enough, I believe you, Mr. Gambit. But if I have my way, I won't be needing you again."

Gambit shook his head. "Everyone needs someone at some point."

Purdey raised an eyebrow. "Even you, Mr. Gambit?"

Gambit knew what she was implying, knew she was testing out his long-standing view on partners. "If the right person was around," he said, choosing his words carefully, "then yes, even me. But he, or she, would have to be very, very special."

Purdey felt herself flush, could feel the implications of his words settling on her. I'm so new, he can't possibly trust me this early on, not after what just happened. He's trying to compliment me, for one reason or another. Would he really say he trusted me just to get me into bed?

Why doesn't that seem likely?

Her musings were cut short by the sound of a door closing. Purdey glanced over Gambit's shoulder and saw Doris Westbrook standing just outside the entrance to the confidential file room. She was carrying a stack of files, but her attention was focussed on them. Gambit, without looking round, seemed to sense her eyes on his back, and before Purdey knew what was happening, or could even begin to explain what they were doing out in the hall together, he'd placed one hand against the wall beside her head, leaning in suggestively.

"Come on, you can't really expect me to believe all you do is type and take dictation all day?" Gambit's voice was smooth, silky almost, and the abrupt change in tone took her off-guard for a moment. "You're much too beautiful to be stuck in an office all day. You ought to be out where people can appreciate you." Purdey was still looking at Doris, and it took Gambit's other hand reaching up to trace along her jaw for her to return her attention to him. The blue-green eyes were boring into hers, urging her to play along, to understand what he was doing and make the act a convincing one. Purdey let him know wordlessly that she understood, shifted against the wall with discomfort that wasn't entirely feigned.

"Oh?" Her voice sounded strangled and strange to her ears. "Like where?"

"I don't know," Gambit went on seductively. "On a catwalk, maybe. With that figure you'd be a natural."

"That's very kind of you, Commander," Purdey replied nervously, giving herself a few points for remembering his cover, and she saw a trace of relief flicker across his face. They were on the same page. Purdey felt her confidence rise. "I'm very flattered. Really, I am. But I must get back to work."

Gambit tsked. "And leave me all alone out here? I didn't think you were the cruel sort. I get lonely, you see."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Purdey said firmly, as though she were doing her best to ward him off. "But I don't want to lose my job."

Gambit's hand moved from her jaw to take one strand of her blonde hair, run it through his fingers as he leaned in, lips millimeters from hers. "If you were with me, you wouldn't need a job," he murmured, and Purdey swallowed hard. If she leaned in just a little bit more, she could—

"Miss Bryde!" Doris Westbrook's voice broke the spell, and Gambit wheeled around as though caught off-guard.

"Ah, Miss Westbrook," he greeted. "I was just having a chat with your assistant. You're very lucky to have a girl like her on staff, very lucky indeed."

"As I said, she's only temporary," Doris informed crisply, shooting Purdey a look.

"What a pity," Gambit opined, glancing back at Purdey. "She makes the whole Wollerton business experience so much more enjoyable." He winked at Purdey, then turned and headed back into the office.

"We'll bear that in mind, Commander," Miss Westbrook called after him, then turned to Purdey, ordered her back to her post wordlessly. Purdey scuttled off to do her bidding, feeling her heart thrum in her chest. She was able to get inside and replace the keys before Doris entered. A fraction of a second later, Wollterton's office door opened, and Steed and the man himself exited. Gambit smiled at both.

"Did you finish your telephone call, Commander Gamble?" Wollerton inquired.

"Yes, thank you. Everything's shipshape," Gambit confirmed. "Sorry to have taken so long. I was chatting with your secretary." He gave Purdey a quick leer as she settled behind her desk, then looked back at Steed. "Well, then, Major Equus, what's the verdict?"

"Most satisfactory," Steed declared, who was observing the whole scenario with the serenity of a detached observer. "But Mr. Wollerton has invited us to a party he's giving tomorrow."

"It will give all our clients a chance to learn firsthand about the direction the company, and its projects, will be taking in the New Year," Wollerton elaborated, as Steed handed Gambit one of two pieces of pasteboard. "I hope you'll be able to attend."

"Pleasure," Gambit enthused, then looked Purdey's way again. "Especially if your secretary's about to pour the drinks."

Wollerton smiled. "I'm sure that can be arranged," he said, directing the comment at Doris Westbrook, who nodded curtly. "Come, gentlemen, I'll walk you to the lift." He exited with Steed and Gambit in tow, and Purdey waited until they were gone before she rose from her desk and hurried over to Doris.

"Miss Westbrook," she said breathlessly. "I'm so sorry. You have to understand. I only went to the loo, and on my way back the Commander came out of the office across the hall, and he started to talk to me, and I didn't want to be rude, but he wouldn't let me go, and I don't want you to think I was flirting. I was only trying not to offend, but he wouldn't—"

"That's quite all right," Doris Westbrook assured primly. "Mr. Wollerton approves of anything which ensures the satisfaction of his clients. You were quite correct in your choice of action."

Purdey blinked. "You mean I'm not sacked?" she asked anxiously.

"Certainly not," Doris countered. "Quite the contrary. You will go to the party tomorrow, Miss Bryde, and should the Commander wish you to entertain him again, you will do so. You will cater to his every whim, and Major Equus' as well. Do I make myself clear?"

Purdey nodded almost frantically. "Yes, Miss Westbrook. I understand."

"Good." Doris handed her one of the invitations sitting on her desk. "Arrive at seven p.m., no later. The address is on the back. You are expected to look more than presentable. No glasses, more with the hair. Mr. Wollerton approves of excess on such occasions."

"I'll do my best," Purdey promised, taking the invitation and turning to return to her desk. She couldn't help but allow herself a small smile of triumph. They were in!

When Purdey left Wollerton's office at the end of the day, she wasn't entirely surprised when she spotted a black Range Rover into her rear-view mirror. Recognising Steed's bowler-hatted silhouette, and a second, very familiar figure seated beside him, she smiled to herself and set about concentrating on her driving, knowing Steed and Gambit would follow her until she was certain there were no hangers-on.

It didn't take her long to establish that the only tail she had was Steed and Gambit, and she pulled over to the curb in a quiet residential side-street. The Rover parked behind her, and Purdey unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the door. There was no way Gambit and Steed would be able to squeeze into the meagre seating afforded by her little loaned car. She stepped outside onto the sidewalk and hurried down the pavement to climb into the back of the Rover. Gambit and Steed twisted around in their seats to regard her. They'd both changed into civvies since their brief stint in the military that morning, but Purdey noticed she was sharing the seat with a pair of suit bags. She patted them cheerfully.

"Are you off-duty?" she said brightly. "Or have you gone AWOL?"

"Not this time," Gambit answered mysteriously, a twinkle in his eye. "But you don't have to salute."

"How wonderfully informal," Purdey quipped, going along with the joke, then turned to Steed. "Are we going to the party, then?"

Steed smiled. "We are, or I should say Major Equus and Commander Gamble are. Remember, Emerson died on the grounds of Wollerton's estate, the very same place he's holding this party. I'm hoping the crowd will be sufficiently large that we'll be able to slip away and have a look behind closed doors." He raised an inquiring eyebrow at Purdey. "That is, if you've managed to secure an invitation. Gambit tells me you had to use creative tactics to avert the suspicion of Miss Westbrook. I can't imagine that's helped your work record."

Gambit pulled a sympathetic face. "There's a girl who doesn't bring her sense of humour to the office. Did she ream you out for unprofessional conduct after we left?"

"On the contrary," Purdey took great delight in informing them. "She wants me to attend solely on the basis of 'Commander Gamble's' interest in me. Apparently all's fair in love and business. Anything to ensure the client is happy and the contract is secure is acceptable, even 'fraternising.' I've been instructed to work on Mr. Gambit all through the party, and you, too, Steed if the need should arise."

Gambit's eyes lit up with anticipation. "I think those are the best marching orders I've ever heard. Maybe I misjudged good old Doris."

Purdey stuck her tongue out at him, and Steed chuckled. "She didn't say I had to enjoy it," she pointed out, with just the right amount of tartness to quash him, but not enough to deter him completely. She didn't have to be cruel, just remind him that there was a line and she'd drawn it. "Anyway, I'll have to be fair. Every second I spend with you, I'll have to match with Steed." And that wasn't a terrible prospect at all. She met Steed's grey eyes and tried to read them, see if he was as interested in the prospect as she was. They flashed with something she couldn't quite fathom, but she took it as a hopeful sign. She was so busy trying to interpret the senior agent's reaction that she almost missed the way Gambit's mouth pursed as he glanced between the pair of them and clearly saw something he didn't like. Purdey felt herself thrill for two reasons. One, because Steed must have shown some sort of interest if Gambit was going to react like that; and second, because there was something inherently pleasurable about making Gambit jealous. Purdey had been pursued by men before, but there was something about Gambit that made him stand out from all previous contenders, something that Purdey instinctively knew would make the competition get under his skin. She felt as though she had the upper hand for the first time. Gambit wanted her, of that much she was certain, and the more he, and everyone else, knew that she wasn't so easy to have, the better her chances of not getting entangled with anyone, and the better the prospects for her poor scarred heart surviving long enough for her reputation as an agent to be cemented without any question as to whether she'd attained her rank through anything but merit.

"As delightful as that sounds," Steed said, breaking into her thoughts. "There will be work to do. Come prepared. We want to avoid any more mishaps, if we can."

Purdey shrank in her seat. "Gambit told you what happened?" she asked in small voice, feeling her cheeks heat.

"Yes," Steed confirmed, with a warm smile. "There's no shame in it, Miss Bryde. No one could have known what would happen when you opened that door. I expect Gambit or I would have ended up much the same. It is a pity that you were unable to see what was inside, but forewarned is forearmed. As I said, whatever Wollerton did to Stanbury in London, he did to Emerson at his estate. I suspect we may encounter a similar door there, and this time we'll be ready for it. All of us."

"You definitely think something's going on, then?" Purdey inquired. "You don't think it's a coincidence."

Gambit shook his head grimly. "Coincidences don't exist in our business."

"Indeed," Steed agreed. "We rely on something much more important."

"Experience?" Purdey ventured.

"Instinct," Steed clarified. "But one tends to follow the other. There are too many little things. The Russian on the keyring in particular bothers me…" His brow furrowed worriedly. "I think we all ought to be on our guard tomorrow evening. Have a restful night, arrive refreshed. Purdey, I expect you'll be among the first to arrive?"

"Yes," Purdey confirmed. "I've been roped in to help set things up."

"Right," Steed murmured. "Keep your eyes peeled for anything at all suspicious, but don't go prying until the party's in full swing and we arrive. I know Miss Westbrook seems to have swallowed Gambit's performance, but we can't be sure. They may be watching you. You'll have to do the same."

Purdey swallowed involuntarily, but nodded. "I'll be careful," she promised.

"You'll be dead if you aren't," Gambit said grimly. "Just promise us you won't try anything on your own. For all our sakes'. Not even a fully trained agent goes in without back-up if he or she can help it."

Purdey could see he was deadly serious. "I won't," she assured. "I promise."

Steed nodded, once. "Good. Now you had better be getting along. You've had a trying day, and you'll need all your energy for tomorrow."

Purdey reached over and opened the Rover door. "Then I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yes," Steed confirmed. "Good night, Miss Bryde."

"Good night."

"Take care of yourself," Gambit added.

Purdey caught his eye, saw the genuine emotion behind the words. "I will," she vowed, before darting off into the night.


	9. A Drink Behind the Bar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, John Steed, and Thomas McKay. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended. Sara Lynley is mine, and may not be used without permission.
> 
> Timeline: First in a series. Takes place in late December, 1975, a full four months before the start of the series in April, 1976. It is strongly recommended that you go back and read the previous story in the arc, Lost Boys. Those interested in the rest of the series are, of course, invited to read the subsequent stories in the arc.
> 
> For more information about the series, please see my profile.
> 
> \-------------------------------------------------

Gambit tottered home, feeling mentally and physically exhausted after a hard day's work undercover. It was amazing how much harder it was to play senior officer than one of the minions, especially when he'd been out of the loop for…how many years had it been now? Gambit shook his head. He was too tired even for mental arithmetic, no matter how simple. Between keeping up his cover and worrying after Purdey, his nerves were shot. His mind kept flashing back to the sight of her sprawled on the floor, seemingly lifeless. It still gave him chills. He forced himself to focus on the lift indicator lights instead. Any alternate ending to the day's events didn't bear thinking about.

The lift whisked him up to his floor, but by the time he'd meandered down to his flat, the drycleaning bag containing his uniform was weighing heavily on his arm, and he moved to hook it on the door handle to free his hands while he dug around for his keys. It was then that he noticed the door wasn't closed, not all the way. Enough to fool someone giving it a cursory glance, but Gambit, even half-fatigued, took in more than the average resident of this block of flats, and the gun was in his hand immediately, bag cast onto the floor in an untidy heap. He stood to one side of the entrance, then prodded the door open with his boot. Ten seconds passed, then fifteen, and nothing transpired. Gambit slid down the wall and risked a quick glance into the flat. There was no sign of an intruder. Cautiously, eyes sweeping the flat furiously, Gambit stepped inside, keeping low and on the alert for a surprise attack.

A sudden movement to his left had him up and swinging the gun around, clicking the safety off even as he barked at the intruder. "Don't move!"

It was just as well his fatigue hadn't dulled his fine motor control instincts, because the head that had popped up from beneath the bar sported a familiar head of dark curls and a porcelain complexion. "That's a fine how do you do, Michael," the girl said wryly, straightening up, bottle in hand. She arched an eyebrow at his weapon, and scowled. "And put that thing away. If you shoot me, you're the one who's going to have to explain it to mum."

Gambit sighed with relief, and pushed the hammer back into the safety position. "Sara," he muttered, not terribly surprised by the appearance of his cousin. "Just invite yourself in why don't you?"

"Oh, I would've left a note on the door or something, but I couldn't find any paper," Sara Lynley replied unconcernedly, busy examining the bottle in her hands. "Anyway, no harm done—my head's still on my shoulders." She glanced at Gambit's gun, still in his hand, and smirked. Mike sighed and returned it to his holster, and Sara continued. "I thought you'd be home earlier, but naturally you weren't. I wasn't going to sit in the hall on the off-chance that you decided to stop by. Not when this was waiting on the other side." She swirled the liquid around the bottle cheerily.

"No decent liquor stores in Singapore?" Gambit asked flatly, making his way out into the hall to retrieve the fallen uniform. "Or wherever it was this time?" He closed the door behind him and discarded it on the couch.

"Originally," Sara agreed, unscrewing the cap and hunting out a glass. "Then things went to hell and I wound up in some backstreet in China trying to plug the holes in my contact." The bottle was trembling now, rattling against the rim of the glass, and Gambit reached out to steady it.

"Is he going to be all right?" he asked gently. He could see the lines around Sara's eyes and mouth now, and the way her shoulders were hunched, as though she were trying to retreat inside of herself. It worried him when she did that—it reminded him too much of his own posture in the early days of his recovery from his ordeal in Africa, and the last thing he wanted to see was the same signs of trauma in someone he cared about. Sara was but one of a multitude of cousins on both sides of the family, but she'd always been the closest, partly by virtue of age—she was only three months his junior—and geography—she'd grown up close by in the same neighborhood. But she had always been able to stand toe-to-toe with him, and she'd understood him better than most. She had been the one help him through the awful aftermath of Africa, the one who'd calmed him down from the nightmares. And the one who, through her connections as an agent for MI6, had gotten him an appointment with the head of a mysterious organization known as 'The Ministry'…

Truth be told, Gambit has always secretly wished he'd been born into Sara's family rather than his own. He thought of her more as a sister, anyway. His aunt, Sara's mother, still sent him pajamas every birthday and Christmas, and his uncle, by marriage, had been more of a father to Gambit than his own. Sara had been devastated when he died, but Gambit had been crushed himself. He'd left for the Navy not long after, and Sara had been one of the few people he'd told. He'd worried about her being all right with him gone.

But Sara, blessedly, was made of stern self, then and now, and the smile she turned up on him actually had a modicum of cheer in it. "Yeah, yeah, they think he'll pull through. He's one of our better men, and he's damn stubborn to boot. You remember Saxon, don't you? He was at the office was when you dropped by a few months back."

Gambit thought back to the blond man with the cheery disposition who hadn't possessed the maddening grudge most MI6 agents nursed against agents from other departments. "Yes. Good chap. Weren't you and he…?" He raised his eyebrows suggestively, and Sara responded with a sharp elbow to the torso.

"None of your bloody business," she snapped, blush seeping into her cheeks. "Honestly, Michael, you're family. You're supposed to pretend I'm pure as the driven snow."

"I'm tired, not delusional." He picked up the bottle and examined it. "This isn't my best scotch," he observed, and Sara grinned wickedly.

"No, but it's the biggest bottle, even if I share." She took a pull, swallowed, and sighed in relief. "I needed that. Sorry to drop by like this, but after what happened I needed...well, someone. And I don't want to worry mum."

Gambit smiled reassuringly. "You know you're always welcome, Sara."

Sara arched an eyebrow. "That's not what you said when I walked in on you and that redhead."

Gambit gritted his teeth. "You could've knocked."

Sara grimaced. "You're not joking. That image is burned into my mind for all eternity. I can still see it when I close my eyes. Whatever happened to her, anyway?"

"She moved to Basingstoke," Gambit said gruffly. "Can we talk about something else?"

Sara pulled a face. "Basingstoke? No wonder you broke it off."

"Sara…"

"All right, all right. So, what have you been up to?" She wandered over to the couch and proceeded to unzip the suit bag. "Hello, what's this?" She held up the Commander's hat for him to see. "Don't tell me they offered you a promotion to reenlist, seaman?"

"Don't muck with it. It's on loan," Gambit told her. "And it's for an assignment. Undercover bit. We needed military, and Steed thought it would be better to stick with what we know."

"And I don't suppose you wanted to be the man from the army," Sara said quietly, suddenly sober. She returned the hat to the bag. "Putting that uniform on again…do you think you could handle it?"

"I didn't have to find out. Steed was army," Gambit said tersely. He was tired and didn't want to think about his army life at the moment. "It made more sense. Even when I was in the service, I was the only man in the parachute regiment who walked like a sailor."

Sara laughed into her drink. "Good point. So, are you and Steed playing nicely at the moment?"

Gambit snorted. "What do you think? Anyway, it's not just the pair of us. We've got someone else working with us this time round." He was surprised he'd brought that up—it would only bring up more questions, and he was too tired to answer them properly. But Sara was the only person he felt comfortable baring his soul to, and she often had something helpful to contribute. And if he didn't talk to her now, he didn't know when he'd have another chance. She spent more time abroad than at home nowadays.

Sara immediately realised the significance of the statement. "Another partner?" she asked in disbelief, straightening up noticeably. "You just said you weren't happy having to work with the first one."

"This one's a woman," Gambit elaborated, and Sara's eyebrows went up. A slow, sly grin stretched her lips.

"I see," she almost purred. "Should I expect to see you repeating the redhead performance, or…?"

Gambit snorted. "Not likely. She's rebuffed every pass, practically everything I've said to her. She's determined to keep me at arm's length."

Sara shrugged, crossing the room to join him back behind the bar. "Where is she in the hierarchy?"

"Just about finished her training," Gambit informed. "She still has solos and tests to come."

"Well, that makes sense. She doesn't want people to think she climbed the ladder through any thing but hard work. And you, my dear Michael, have a bit of a reputation."

"That's what Steed said," Gambit sighed. "And I understand that, but she's…it doesn't matter what I say to her, she shoots me down. But sometimes, sometimes she opens up, and she can be playful, and cheeky, and flirtatious. The rest of the time she's the consummate professional, but you never know when she's going to be which." Gambit shook his head. "And the clincher is, I'm willing to wait out the ice-queen for the little flashes of the other girl, because I think that she's the real one. The one that's not trying to keep her guard up so she can keep her nose clean. I think the pair of us could really get on and make a good team. She's the first person I think I could actually work with in a very long time."

Sara was gaping at him in shock, and Gambit regarded her quizzically. "What?" he wanted to know.

Sara responded by producing a second glass and topping it up with the Scotch. "Drink that," she ordered him, before sliding down to take a seat on the floor. She took another healthy mouthful herself, and reached up to retrieve the bottle. "Come down here, Michael. I need to sit down to absorb it all. What's her name?"

Gambit settled down beside her. "Purdey. Purdey Bryde."

"And you call her…?"

"Miss Bryde. She wants everyone to call her Purdey, even Steed, but she keeps calling me 'Mr. Gambit,' and I'm holding out for her to at least drop the 'Mr.' before I return the favour. The way she does it now makes me feel like her banker."

"And how long ago did you meet?" Sara queried.

"It's only been two days," Gambit informed. "Steed introduced her on the 26th. She walked into his office, and, well…" He sighed. "There she was…"

"Attractive?" Sara asked knowingly, recognising that particular gleam in her cousin's eye.

Gambit nodded, but he was staring off into space, not looking at her. "Blonde. Biggest blue eyes I've ever seen. Tall. Slim. Figure you'd kill for. And her legs…"

Sara snickered. "I asked for a description, not an ode. And she's not interested in you at all?"

Gambit looked suddenly mournful. His eyes dropped into his Scotch. "Not that she's let on. Sometimes, sometimes, I think she might be, but it's hard to know if she's teasing or just trying to sprinkle a few kind words among the formal addresses. But right now, she's intent on keeping the brakes on," he sighed. "The way she looks at Steed, on the other hand."

"Oh, yes?" Sara sipped her drink. "She's got a touch of hero-worship, has she?"

"Yes." There wasn't much point in denying it.

"It'll fade," Sara predicted. "Everyone in our business is struck by Steed the first time around. You hear so much about him, I half expected him to be levitating a few feet off the floor when we met." Sara smiled at her own mental image. "But legends are just that—legends. Once you've seen the real thing, no matter how spectacular, reality sets in and takes some of the gloss off. She'll see him more as a human as time goes on, and you as less of a threat. After all, you've both known her the same amount of time, right?"

Gambit shook his head. "Not quite. Steed recruited her, so they spoke at least once or twice before I came into the picture." He paused and pinched the bridge of his nose. "But I have the strangest feeling that I've met her before, somewhere, too."

"Why do you say that?"

"I don't know," Gambit admitted, squeezing his eyes shut tighter, as though that would help him better grasp the niggling sense of familiarity that hovered in the back of his brain. "I just…know I've run into her sometime, somewhere, but I'll be damned if I can remember when, and she doesn't seem to remember me at all, either. I don't even know if I've seen her, but there's something about her voice, the way she smells..."

"Ha!" Sara slapped her knee so enthusiastically Gambit jumped a few inches. "I knew it!"

"Knew what?" Gambit asked testily, brushing drops of Scotch off his shirt from where he'd slopped it.

"I knew you'd find someone one of these days," Sara went on, not paying him any heed.

Gambit froze mid-sip as he tried to salvage his remaining whiskey. "What do you mean, 'find someone'?" he asked carefully.

"Someone to make my life easier," Sara said dryly. "Don't be thick, Michael. You're obviously smitten."

Gambit blanched, and choked on his drink. "What?" he sputtered. "Hang on a second! I barely know her!"

"Exactly," Sara agreed. "Think about it. You barely know her, and yet you're devastated that she doesn't give you the time of the day. You wax lyrical about her legs. She's all businesslike, and instead of getting annoyed you play along in hopes she'll say something nice once in awhile. You're holding out for her call you something other than 'Mr. Gambit.' You don't want a partner, you've fought against it at every turn, you've been waging war with Steed, and yet you're not complaining about having her along. Not even a bit. And on top of it all, you got all starry-eyed a minute ago and started going on about how familiar she seems, how you swear you know her, like something out of a schmaltzy melodrama." She ticked the points off on her hand, holding it out as proof of a compelling argument. "Face it, Michael. You've fallen. Hard."

"I'm not in love with her!" Gambit protested, looking mildly panicked.

"Who said anything about 'love'?" Sara countered, grinning wickedly. "I was willing to put it down to crush, infatuation, but Michael Gambit doth protest too much, methinks."

"She's just a girl," Gambit tried, although it wasn't clear if he was trying to convince himself, or Sara.

"Wrong," Sara contradicted. " 'Just a girl' is Miss Basingstoke, of whom there are hundreds, all willing to fall at your feet. Not that I can explain it. Then again, I did hear you talk that year when your voice cracked, so perhaps the mystique's been lost."

"I knew I shouldn't have phoned you when we came into port," Gambit said sourly, remembering the teenage laughter filtering down the line all too well, direct from London to New Zealand. "And a bloody lot of good it does me. She's not interested, remember?"

"That's the other thing," Sara went on, warming to her subject. "She's not the first to turn you down, but you've always been good at moving on. But her—you care that she might not feel anything for you. That's why you can't admit it to yourself. Unrequited love is too much to bear."

Gambit sulked into his glass. "I'm not in love with her," he grumbled, swirling the liquid round half-heartedly. "I mean, just because I brought her marshmallows for her lunch break because she said they were her favourites doesn't mean I'm—" He paused midway, suddenly aware of what he was saying. "Oh, bugger," he murmured in disbelief, burying his face in his hands. "I am in love with her, aren't I?"

"A breakthrough at last," Sara said tiredly, reaching over to refill his glass abandoned on the floor.

"What am I going to do?" Gambit wanted to know, looking up fornlornly. "She's not even going to be working with us long, and she's not interested in so much as a dinner date. Not with me."

Sara shook her head. "Not necessarily. You don't know what her reasons are. Maybe she's got her own issues that need dealing with. After all, she's not at the Ministry because she's a nice, normal girl. Maybe you've finally found someone with as many issues as you. Maybe you can sort each other out."

Gambit snorted, accepting the glass. "Look who's talking."

"I never claimed I was sane, either," Sara pointed out, and sighed. "Finding the girl of your dreams in the spy game. What a life one leads…"

"I know," Gambit agreed. "Remember when we were young and innocent?"

"No," Sara said flatly. "Because we weren't. Then again, we did get mildly plastered that night when we were fourteen, so those memories may have been wiped." She smirked. "Mum threw a fit. You're lucky she felt protective of you, because you wouldn't have gotten away with half of what you got me into otherwise."

"Got you into?" Gambit teased. "You weren't exactly virtuous. Or have your forgotten that incident in the schoolyard?"

"That boy asked for it," Sara said unconcernedly. "He should've kept his hands to himself. Then I would've done the same."

"Took two weeks for that black eye to heal up," Gambit recalled. "We've come so far."

Sara detected the note of sarcasm. "I should say so. At 14 we had to drink cheap stuff behind a fence. Now we've got our own well-stocked bar to guzzle expensive Scotch behind." She leaned her head back with a dull thunk and sighed. "Life was simpler back then, though."

"Too simple," Gambit countered. "I'm in no hurry to go back."

"That's putting it mildly," Sara said flatly. "When was the last time you saw either of your parents? Not since gran's funeral?"

"That's right," Gambit confirmed.

"Once in the past eight years. Don't overdo it," Sara muttered. "Maybe one of these days you can bring Purdey down. I'll bring Saxon and we can muse on the relative merits of blondes."

"I thought you said you and Saxon weren't…"

"I said it wasn't any of your business," Sara snapped, but there were tears at the corners of her eyes. She brushed them away angrily, clearly upset at the whole situation, the drink breaking down her inhibitions. "Damn it all, Michael."

Gambit didn't say anything, just reached out and pulled her close so she could rest her head on his shoulder as he absently stroked her hair. "I'm sorry," she choked, but he shushed her quiet.

"You'll stay as long as you need," he told her. "Purdey might not need me, but I can still be here for you."

"She'll come around," Sara said quietly. "She's madder than you say if she passes you up for some bloke in accounting."

Gambit smiled in spite of himself. "Why Sara, that sounded suspiciously like a compliment."

"Yeah, well, don't let it go to your head," Sara shot back, but there was humour in her voice. "You'll have to introduce me to her one day, if she sticks around."

"Maybe," Gambit agreed, taking another sip of the whiskey. "If she's still around."

Later that night, after Sara had gone home, Mike Gambit slept. And dreamt. It was a recurring dream, not as regular as some, but definitely familiar. And based in reality. Gambit shifted in sleep and made a noise. He was in a corridor. He recognized it, despite it being non-descript. A Ministry corridor. But he wasn't paying heed to the details. He was looking at the figure, the one that brushed past him, paying him no heed. He couldn't seem to focus on it, no matter how hard he tried, but he knew it was a woman. He could smell her, and he could hear her voice in his head. Two words. "My fault." For running into him. But he didn't want an apology. He wanted her. He didn't know why or how, had no idea who she was. And yet her perfume filled his nostrils, and her voice echoed in his head. In the dreamworld he closed his eyes and let his other senses take over where his eyes could not, let himself bask in her, savour her. He knew when he opened them again, she would be gone. She always was. Around the corner and back out of his life, where he was unable to pursue her, no matter how hard he tried. But all good things came to an end, and eventually he looked again, expecting an empty hall. It wasn't empty. Someone was there.

Purdey.

She smiled at him brightly. "My fault, Mike Gambit," she teased, and Gambit watched in awe as she strode away, down the hall and around the corridor, leaving a trail of scent in her wake. The voice. The perfume. The girl.

Purdey was the mystery girl.

The revelation caused Gambit to jerk awake in surprise. He stared at the ceiling, shellshocked. What did it mean? How could that be possible? But Purdey would still have been a trainee at that point, one of the Ministry's many. It could easily be her. It was her. He was certain of it. His mind had been trying to tell him ever since he'd laid eyes on her. He'd been in love with that voice for nearly six months now. He knew those words as well as his own voice. It was definitely Purdey. Purdey who would hardly give him the time of day.

"Shit," Gambit said eloquently, and covered his face with his hands.


	10. Dancing and Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, John Steed, and Thomas McKay. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended
> 
> Timeline: First in a series. Takes place in late December, 1975, a full four months before the start of the series in April, 1976. It is strongly recommended that you go back and read the previous story in the arc, Lost Boys. Those interested in the rest of the series are, of course, invited to read the subsequent stories in the arc.
> 
> For more information about the series, please see my profile.
> 
> \--------------------------------------

Gambit and Steed entered the grand ballroom of Wollerton's manor house and took a moment to gather their wits. The room was swimming with all manner of people, all presumably clients or colleagues of Wollerton's, save for the white suit-clad waiters bearing drinks trays, and the band playing for the handful of couples who had decided to dance. Wollerton himself soon swam into view, Doris Westbrook on his arm, and greeted both with much more joviality than he had ever displayed within the confines of his office.

"Ah, Commander Gamble, Major Equus. So glad you could come." Wollerton shook each man's hand warmly. He looked them up and down, frowned slightly. "No dress uniforms?"

"We're traveling incognito this evening," Steed explained, leaning in conspiratorially. "Much less conspicuous. The government would rather we listen to your presentation this evening while attracting as little attention as possible. Keep everything hush hush. I'm sure you understand?"

"Oh, yes, of course," Wollerton agreed, nodding. He turned to Doris. "You remember Miss Westbrook?"

"Of course." Steed took the woman's hand and kissed it. "You look very lovely tonight, my dear," he complimented. He shot Gambit a look, and the younger man made a half-hearted attempt to copy Steed's performance. It didn't seem to matter. Doris received his attentions with considerably less good grace than Steed's. Gambit wondered if it was because he had seemingly chosen to lavish his attentions on Purdey rather than her. Doris Westbrook had clearly been an attractive woman in her younger years, and still maintained a sort of faded beauty that would have had more impact if they didn't have to coexist with her less-than-attractive personality. Her eyes were cold when they met his. Gambit had a feeling the pair of them weren't destined to be firm friends.

"Commander, Doris tells me you showed some interest in something other than the plans yesterday," Wollerton was saying to Gambit, eyes twinkling. "Our latest addition, the lovely Miss Bryde?"

Gambit fought to contain his surprise at the idea of Wollerton being aware enough of the people in his office to have even noticed Purdey's attributes. From what he'd read, since women didn't factor neatly into his research, and they were more or less irrelevant where Wollerton was concerned. But Gambit supposed anything that kept a client amused, and more likely to renew a contract, was of interest to a businessman. "Yes," Mike confirmed, letting a small smile twitch his lips. "Well, she was right there in the outer office, just waiting to be, uh, seen."

Wollerton's head bobbed up and down happily. "Yes, indeed. And she's gone about being seen all evening. You're not the only client who is more than a little pleased that my regular receptionist has been away." He turned toward the large, grand staircase which swept from the second floor into the ballroom itself. "Ah, speak of the devil. Here she is."

Gambit turned his eyes up to the stairs, and felt his heart stop. Purdey was descending the flight of stairs like an angel from heaven. She'd chosen a simple, black, off-the-shoulder evening gown, which started out body-hugging, caressing every delicious curve, but quickly devolved into a free-flowing long skirt. Her hair was swept up in an elaborate updo, setting off her exquisite features to stunning effect. She moved with grace and poise, and Gambit marvelled at how someone could make going down stairs seem like the sort of poetry in motion the ballet was always meant to be, but which he had never seen before now. Purdey reached the base of the staircase, and started to wend her way toward them, and Gambit didn't take his eyes off her for a moment, only remembered to breathe again when she reached them. Wollerton took her by the arm and steered her almost bodily toward Gambit and Steed.

"Ah, Miss Bryde. You remember the Major and Commander?" The words were said sweetly enough, but the underlying command still leeched through. Gambit felt his temper flare at the man's willingness to use Purdey as a pawn in his business dealings, even though Purdey was safely being 'offered' to them and had nothing to fear. Purdey being used by anyone quite so callously stuck in his craw, and he wished for a moment that he didn't have to play the willing, slightly-immoral letch, even for Wollerton's benefit.

"Of course." Purdey had on her most charming smile as she nodded at both in turn. "How lovely to see you gentlemen again."

"We'll leave you to get reacquainted," Wollerton told them, already melting away into the crowd. "The presentation begins in twenty minutes."

"Right. Thank you," Steed called after him, then turned to Purdey and Gambit. "They'll be expecting you two to spend time together, so if you don't mind, I'll take the lay of the land. If you can draw their attention and have a look at the crowd while you're at it, it would prove most helpful."

Gambit nodded curtly. "We'll be all right. What time are we going to go exploring?"

"When they turn the lights down for the presentation," Steed informed. "I'll come for you when it's time." He looked at his watch. "Try to place yourselves near the back of the crowd in fifteen minutes."

Purdey glanced at her own elegant silver timepiece. "Fifteen minutes. We'll be there."

"Excellent." Steed gave Purdey an appreciative once-over. "Very charming, Miss Bryde," he complimented, before disappearing into the crowd. Purdey smiled so broadly, Gambit thought her face was about to split, cheeks colouring up nicely. He scowled at Steed's back. Purdey melted so easily at everything he said, and he knew it. Gambit had a sneaking suspicion the senior agent was trying to bait him on purpose. Still, it made Purdey happy, and he couldn't begrudge her the glow encompassing her features when she turned back to him. After all, he was still the John Steed when all was said and done, and every agent, nay, every woman, would have trouble resisting his particular brand of charm. He only wished she was as susceptible to the Mike Gambit. But maybe she could learn to be.

"Well," Purdey began, glancing around the room. "Should we circulate and meet as many as we can, or let them come to us?"

"First things first," Gambit stated firmly, and took her hand, brought it to his lips with infinitely more grace than he had Doris Westbrook's. Purdey regarded him with slightly-widened blue eyes, making her appearance akin to a startled deer. "I have to tell you how beautiful you look this evening."

To his great pleasure, she blushed, even deeper than she had for Steed, and the smile made a reappearance.

"You're quite pretty yourself," she tried to deflect, but it was clear he'd made an impression. "I'll bet you say that to all the girls."

"No, only the graceful goddesses with the killer legs," Gambit quipped, and Purdey laughed in spite of herself.

"Then it's only fair I return the compliment. You look very suave this evening. Now, are we going to spend the evening massaging each other's egos, or are we going to do our job?"

Gambit arched an interested eyebrow as he pondered the possibilities. "If I had my way, we'd go for the massage, and wouldn't stop with the ego, but seeing as Steed's determined to make us work for our drinks, we should probably start earning our keep." Somewhere, the band struck up a lively waltz, and Gambit glanced at the dancefloor, felt an idea form.

"Do you do waltzes, or does it have to be the disco?"

Purdey smirked. "It can be anything," she said with a touch of pride, and went on at Gambit's bemused expression. "Oh, I never told you, did I? I'm a dancer by training. I was a member of the Royal Ballet five years ago, but I'd had hundreds of lessons before that. Tap, ballroom, the lot. I love it all. Give me some music and a little corner of the floor, and I'll be happy for hours."

Gambit whistled. "Royal Ballet?" he repeated, with undisguised admiration. "That's pretty impressive. Did you enjoy it?"

"I adored it," Purdey confirmed, and there was a touch of sadness in her eyes. "It was all I ever wanted."

Gambit regarded her with mild bemusement. "If you loved it so much, why did you leave it? Must have been a lot less dangerous than this line of work."

Purdey smiled again, but this time it didn't reach her eyes, and he thought he could detect tears forming at the corners. "Things…happened," she said vaguely. "Life didn't quite unfold as I'd planned."

"Such as?"

Purdey laughed mirthlessly. "They told me I was too tall, and threw me out. I never got to dance Odette in the end. My childhood dream." She sighed. "I still practice and dance when I can, but I haven't done anything onstage in years, and it's almost impossible to find a partner who knows his way around the floor.

Gambit felt his jaw drop. "You're joking." Purdey regarded him quite seriously. "You're not joking," he murmured in disbelief. "They threw you out? Were they all blind, or just incredibly stupid?"

"Neither," Purdey said with a sigh. "They were probably right. There were more talented girls in the company. I was never more than an understudy."

"We'll see about that," Gambit said firmly. "Because from where I'm standing, you're the perfect height for your partner." She looked at him in puzzlement. "Me," he elaborated. "And tonight, we're going to put everyone else to shame."

Purdey laughed. "Assuming you don't trip over your own feet."

"Oh, I think you'll be surprised," Gambit said mysteriously, and tugged her hand to guide her out onto the dance floor. Purdey followed, sceptically, but automatically found herself placing one hand on his shoulder, and letting him take the other. They started to dance, and found themselves pulling in opposite directions, unable to make much progress.

"Sorry," Gambit murmured, raising an amused eyebrow. "I thought it was my job to lead."

Purdey blushed in spite of herself. "Well, yes," she admitted. "But I'm used to dancing with men who don't know their right foot from their left. Even your average attendee at the discotheque doesn't know any proper moves. They just sort of…bob along to the music." Purdey scrunched her face up in mild disgust. "It's very demoralizing. I always have to take the lead. No one seems to know how to really dance any longer."

"No," Gambit agreed, that ever-present grin popping up again. "But let go and give me a chance. I promise to let you take over the moment I tread on your feet."

Purdey eyed him up. "You're sure?" she said cockily. "You know you're dealing with a professional?"

"Yes, but I'll try not to let the nerves get to me." Gambit's grin broadened, then darted away just as quickly. "I'll be needing that hand, though."

Purdey allowed herself a small smile, and loosened her vice-like grip on Gambit's hand. "Right then, Mr. Gambit. Show me your moves."

"Don't tempt me," Gambit quipped, and Purdey resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She didn't have time to prepare a retort, though, because it was at that moment that Gambit counted them in, and they started to move in time with the music. Purdey felt her feet move instinctively, her body naturally falling into a rhythm that was almost second nature. The music swept her way, and she closed her eyes and let herself be completely embraced by it, let her heart and soul be carried away into a higher plane of consciousness. She always felt so light when she danced, so free, all of the problems and pains of the world melting away and leaving her unfettered in the clouds. For a moment, there was no past, no present, no future, no tragedy, no disappointment. No death. Just her. The music.

And Gambit.

Purdey felt her eyes pop open and focus on the face in front of her. Gambit was regarding her with a pleased, self-satisfied expression, never missing a beat as they whirled around the floor. Purdey glanced down and discovered that they were moving in tandem, feet never getting even remotely close to colliding and causing an upset. Purdey almost fell out of the dance sequence in surprise.

"You're…" she began, looking up again hurriedly, lest she make herself dizzy watching his footwork too closely.

Gambit's eyebrows canted upwards once. "Yes? Did you say something?"

"You're…good," Purdey choked out, as though it were the most impossible thing on the planet.

"Thanks," Gambit replied. "Not on par with you, maybe, but you have to admit, I haven't stepped on you once."

"No," Purdey agreed. "But…how? Don't tell me your ship had dance lessons on Friday nights?"

Gambit chuckled. "No, although it probably would have kept us out of trouble."

"Then how?"

"Virtues of a knockabout education," Gambit said mysteriously. "Pick things up as you go. And I figured out very quickly that there's nothing a girl likes more than a man who can dance. If he can move well on the floor…"

"He'll move well back at his place. In the bedroom. Of course," Purdey said knowingly, sighing tiredly. "It would come back to your love life. And here I thought you had a genuine love of the art form."

"Oh, I do," Gambit assured, reversing quite neatly in a way Purdey thought was showing off. "Anything athletic that requires a healthy dose of discipline. You probably already know all about my black belt in karate. Dance and the martial arts aren't worlds apart. You need a lot of skill, concentration, and the willingness to bend your body to something punishing for years and years to get it right. To master it and let your mind and body merge." He saw Purdey's incredulous expression, and sighed. "Yes, believe it or not, Miss Bryde, I have a lot of respect for what you can do, and I do focus on things beyond the secretary pool."

"I don't imagine the karate master bit hurts with the ladies?"

"Well, no. But you can't blame me for taking advantage of the bonuses."

"I suppose not," Purdey said with a sigh. "Tell me, do you waltz often?"

"Not really. I'm still at the disco for the most part. More my line, and the drinks are better. But I can do more than 'bob.'"

"I'll bear that in mind."

"I did say I knew my way around a disco," Gambit reminded. "And you promised that we'd have a chance to test each other out on the floor. Hope this isn't going to be it."

"No," Purdey said with a smile. "I don't think so. Now that I've found someone with a sense of rhythm, I'm looking forward to another test drive. When we don't have to worry about breaking our cover."

"Yeah." Gambit looked over her shoulder for the first time, realizing they were meant to be sizing up the crowd. "Speaking of cover…"

"The job. Don't worry, I'm paying attention. Did you notice the two rather heavy-set Russian types by the bar?"

Gambit swiveled his eyes. "Two of their cultural attaches," he identified. "I recognize them from the files."

"Do you think they're linked to the Russian on Miss Westbrook's keyring?" Purdey inquired.

"I wouldn't bet against it," Gambit said knowingly. "Here, cosy up."

Purdey frowned. "What?"

"Wollerton's watching," Gambit hissed, tightening his grip on Purdey's waist to press her body against his. "Sorry to get grabby, but he's expecting me to take advantage."

"I understand." It was uncomfortable with her face pressed into his shoulder, so Purdey turned her head and let her cheek rest against the strong, comfortable curve instead. It fit remarkably well, and they continued their dance in silence. Purdey felt herself relax in Gambit's arms, safe in the knowledge that he would keep his end of the footwork up, and, if she was honest with herself, safe physically in strong arms. How long since she'd let a man hold her like this? Not often since Larry, that was certain. The name made her wince a little, and she nestled her face further into his tuxedo jacket. She could smell Gambit again, just as she had the first time she'd been in his arms, crammed under the desk. It wasn't the same, though. He was more at ease this time, though, and she hadn't been able to feel him move. This close, she could detect every small movement as they danced, could feel the physicality of him, of the muscles under the jacket. This sort thinking really wasn't professional at all, but Purdey couldn't help herself, and anyway, it was helping her get into character, so where was the harm?

Gambit glanced down at the blonde head resting on his shoulder, and smiled fondly at her, shifted his arms around her, and wished the band wasn't due to break so Wollerton could make his presentation. He could have stayed out on the floor, Purdey gently swaying in his arms, for the rest of the night. She fit so well there, and the way she moved was so in sync with him, it was almost eerie. The closer they got, the more their bodies moved in tandem. He swore he could feel her heart beating in time with his own through their respective layers of clothing. Was this how it felt when you found your perfect match, your other half in the dangerous game of life and death that constituted his career at the Ministry? Was this how Steed and Mrs. Peel had felt in the early days of their partnership? A sense of familiarity, an easiness, a compatibility that went beyond words, beyond petty differences, and connected at some higher level, making up for the areas in which the other failed? Because Purdey felt so right in his arms, so right with her head on his shoulder, and when the professionalism slipped, he swore he could feel something click between them, as though there were two people who knew each other under all the bravado, and games, and trauma, and keeping one another at a distance. He knew her, at some level, and he wanted to know her better. Much better. Beyond the bedroom. Beyond the Ministry. Into life.

The music stopped, but Gambit didn't notice. He'd never thought about a girl quite this way before. Never considered wanting to stay with her for years and years beyond the eventual mutual disillusionment and break-up. But it was ridiculous. He wasn't even friends with the girl, let alone her lover. They weren't even partners, strictly speaking. She'd be gone soon. Gambit felt his arms tighten instinctively around her, as though it would keep her from leaving. Eventually. A lot of people left him, one way or another, in the end.

"Mr. Gambit." Purdey's urgent hiss broke his reverie. "The music stopped. We have to meet Steed."

Gambit froze, looked down at her bright blue eyes with mild incomprehension. She was looking at him as though he were mad, and he was inclined to agree with her.

"Sorry," he muttered, releasing her. "I was miles away. Right, let's find Steed."

"I sincerely hope you have some idea of what's going to be said upstairs," Steed said to Purdey as the three of them crept down the cellar stairs into the bowels of the house. Steed had liased with them not long after the lights had gone out in the ballroom, and Wollerton's business presentation had been projected onto one of the high, bare walls. That had left the trio of agents to slip quietly out one of the doors, Steed leading the way through the corridors, out a second door, and now down, down, down into the bottom level of the manor. Purdey could smell earth as they neared the bottom of the staircase, and felt just a hint of damp in the air. She had the niggling sensation that she was descending into a tomb, and did her best to ignore it.

"Yes," she said in response to Steed's inquiry. "I helped put it together, as it happens."

"Slideshow preparation. You get all the glamourous jobs," Gambit quipped, but his expression was distracted. He kept looking over his shoulder, as though he expected to find someone sneaking up behind him. Purdey wondered if he was having the same 'tomb' sensation as she, but she felt silly bringing it up. Pull yourself together. You're an agent, not an eight-year-old.

"Glamourous, no, but it was very informative. As a piece of propaganda, at any rate."

Steed arched an eyebrow. "Oh? Do tell." They were at the bottom of the staircase now, and found themselves facing a long, narrow corridor. Steed started down it, and turned to examine the doors lining the walls on either side. Purdey and Gambit followed, Purdey peering in through the barred windows to inspect the bare rooms inside, furnished only by a bench.

"Cells," she observed, looking to Gambit, but his eyes were fixed on the bars in the door, his mouth pressed into a thin line. His expression was distant, and Purdey could see he was miles away, reflecting on…something. The blue-green eyes were impossible to read. That was the frustrating thing about Mike Gambit. Sometimes she could read him like a book, but at others he could out-enigma Steed, which was no mean feat.

"Yes," Gambit pronounced finally. "Cells. Do you think Wollerton's planning on locking people up, or are his guest rooms just back-to-basics?"

Steed's chuckle echoed up the corridor. "I've heard of roughing it, but this seems a bit extreme. I think it's safe to assume that anyone seeking accommodation here doesn't have the option to switch rooms."

"You can check out any time you want, but you can never leave," Gambit recited, half-to-himself, then sensed Purdey's eyes on him and turned to grin at her. "But Hotel California will wait. Come on, Miss Bryde. Tell us all about old Wolly's smoke and mirrors."

"They're not even that sophisticated," Purdey said wryly, following Gambit as he started walking again. "He discusses some of his projects, certainly, but the central theme concerns his funding, and how in the new year he's going to receive a windfall, all of it earmarked for research."

Steed raised an eyebrow and glanced over his shoulder at her. "Did he mention the source? Public? Private?"

Purdey shook her head. "Nothing. Just that it won't have any strings attached, and he'll be free to innovate. And that likely means an unparalleled climb in his stock prices, though he seems less concerned about that than the research potential. He honestly seems to care only about the science, the process. Money's just a way of achieving it."

Gambit exchanged glances with Steed. "We saw two of 'their' people indulging in decadent Western champagne," he informed. "Do you think they're funding Wollerton?"

"Possibly," Steed murmured, not looking terribly thrilled with the idea. "The question is, in exchange for what?"

"Whatever's downstairs at the office back in London, I'd assume," Purdey said with conviction. "Behind those doors."

"Ah, but somebody met with a nasty accident out here, too," Gambit reminded. "There might be two somethings. That's what you think, isn't it, Steed? That's why we're down here, not upstairs sipping champers and listening to Wollerton's rosy predictions of the future."

"Rosy for him, maybe," Steed said grimly. "I wouldn't presume it'll be so for the rest of us." He quickened his pace, heading for a crossroads ahead of him. "Keep your eyes open for more silver doors."

"You mean like those?" Purdey was looking down the opposite branch to the one Steed and Gambit had seemed to be about to follow. She could see a glint of metal in the distance. Gambit and Steed moved to flank her, saw it.

"Well, we know your eyesight's in tip-top shape," Gambit mused. "Let's see if we can't get in without anyone losing consciousness this time."

"How are we going to break in?" Purdey wanted to know, as they sprinted off down the corridor to reach the door. It was as big and shiny as the one back in London, constructed of the same steel, and with an identical box mounted in the wall beside it, keyhole taunting them.

"I anticipated that," Steed murmured, extracting a set of skeleton keys from his pocket. "And I came prepared with the advanced arsenal." He brandished one key with a smile, then inserted it in the lock. Purdey grinned back, and leaned her shoulder against the wall to watch him work.

"What are you going to do about the keypad?" she wanted to know. She looked to Gambit. "Or do you get to pull something wonderful out of your pocket next?"

"Don't tempt me," Gambit said wickedly, producing a miniature camera. "Sorry to disappoint, but I'm travelling light this week."

"Really?" Purdey cocked her head and ran an inquiring eye over his pocket and surrounding area. "I never would have guessed."

"Don't confuse the pocket with the rest of the package," Gambit advised with a saucy wink.

"Aside from whatever Gambit conceals in his pockets," Steed broke in, selecting his fifth key, and smiling with satisfaction at the click that resulted, "I've a feeling—" He opened the panel, revealing one, lone red button. "—that security is less strict on Wollerton's private property. A slighter chance of wayward employees wandering about with purloined keyrings."

Purdey looked at the button with surprise. "That's it? Really? One button?"

"A red button," Gambit pointed out. "Isn't there a law somewhere in the universe that you're never supposed to press the red button?"

"That only works on television," Purdey countered.

"Who's to say we're not?"

"I'd love to see who they roped in to play you," Purdey shot back, turning back to the button. "May I? It's calling to me."

"What, and bring the whole house down on us?" Gambit countered.

"I doubt that," Steed said cheerfully. "After you, Miss Bryde."

Purdey stuck her tongue out at Gambit, and hit it with flourish. The large steel door immediately creaked to life, sliding to one side. Steed, Gambit, and Purdey moved as one to watch it as it opened.

"Stay to one side," Purdey warned, catching one of their arms in each hand and pulling them back before they got too close. "Curiousity didn't kill the cat, but it did give it an involuntary nap."

"Duly noted," Gambit muttered, taking her advice and hanging back. The door finished sliding aside with a clang, and then fell silent. The trio waited for a moment, silence hanging heavily over them. Eventually, Steed took a tentative step toward the opening. Purdey and Gambit waited a beat, but when he didn't keel over, followed. They joined him in a huddle to look through into the room.

Purdey hadn't been quite sure what she expected, and, in fact, still wasn't. The room was huge, almost cave-like, with thick concrete walls, and all manner of computer panels and platforms arranged throughout. They were all clearly meant to control the giant…thing taking up most of the room's volume with its bulk. It was large, and silver, and square, and crouched in the middle of the room, panels on the front winking with lights, and a series of slats decorating either side.

Gambit whistled.

"Agreed," Steed said absently, eyes glued to the monstrosity.

Purdey looked from one to another in bemusement. "Do you know what it is?" she demanded. "A bomb? Computer? Some sort of machine?"

"Maybe all three," Gambit hazarded. "When it's that big, who says you have to choose?"

"I can certainly see where all the resources he's been siphoning off have been going," Purdey agreed. "But other than the fact that it's big, and I don't like it, it's not terribly helpful. Not without someone to tell us what it is."

"That's why we need pictures," Gambit pointed out, brandishing his camera. He took a quick shot of the monstrosity, and then moved to one of the control panels. Purdey trailed behind, looked over his shoulder as he examined it. "Because for all we know, if we press any of these we could end up sinking the whole island. And I've always been fond of Wales."

"I like Scotland," Purdey volunteered, taking in the array of buttons and switches. "I'm part Scots, did you know?"

"Really? Throw in my Irish gran, and we could have a nice little summit. Around my bar."

"I admire your restraint at not saying 'bed,'" Purdey said wryly. "Go on, take your pictures. I'm going to see what's behind door number two."

"Eh?" Gambit's head snapped round, and Purdey grinned as she wandered over to the door set in the wall off to their right.

"Just a connecting room. It might be the broom cupboard, but I think it deserves a look."

"It does." Steed hurried over to join her, keys in hand. Purdey stood aside to let him work, but when the telltale 'click' was heard, he stood aside. "Ladies first."

"Oh, how exciting. I get to meet the brooms first," Purdey said brightly, pushing the door open and stepping inside.

The second thing she noticed upon entering was how cold it was. The reason it was the second was because the first thing she noticed was the rows of dead bodies.

"Oh dear." Steed had come in behind her, and was surveying the scene with a grim expression. Gambit, who had been left behind on photography duty, was the late-comer, but his reaction was much the same as Purdey and Steed's. His mouth twisted angrily.

"I knew this damned place felt like a tomb," he muttered, and Purdey registered surprise at their meeting of the minds. "There must be at least two dozen of them."

"Yes, but who are they?" Steed wanted to know, moving in among the rows. Gambit followed suit, but Purdey hung back for a moment. It was all a bit much. She chose instead to head for the row of filing cabinets on the far left wall, pulled open a drawer and started to rifle through the folders. Gambit and Steed, meanwhile, examined the bodies more closely.

"Is it just me," Gambit said after a moment, flicking back a sheet and examining a middle-aged man, "or do they all look very—"

"Healthy?" Steed offered. "Not a mark on them, in fact. Remarkably like—"

"Stanbury, Emerson, and Travers," Gambit finished, jaw working overtime. "No discolouration, no sign of trauma. It's as though they just…stopped." He glanced around at the rows of corpses. "All of them."

"Not all of them," Purdey contradicted, moving to another body and pulling back the sheet to reveal a mass of bruises covering his body. She held a file in her other hand, and consulted it as she went. "He's down as '3,' an early victim." She allowed herself a moment to feel for the poor dead man stretched out before her, then switched back into agent mode. If Steed and Gambit could maintain a veneer of professionalism, so could she. "He has substantial bruising. According to this, the result was unsatisfactory. It seems he took too long to die—and was too messy about it." She looked up and let her eyes meet first Steed's, then Gambit's. "He bled out. From various orifices."

Gambit shuddered involuntarily, even as he moved to join her. "And that didn't suit them?" he inquired, in a voice that shook slightly with emotion.

"Apparently not," Purdey murmured, moving on to the next cadaver in the row, this one a woman. She switched files to the next one in line. "She was slightly better—less bruising." She bit her lip, flicked through the rest of the sheath. "It seems to go on from there. The deaths are…cleaner. That seems to be what they were aiming for."

"And they finally perfected it to the point that they could do in poor old Travers without leaving a mark," Gambit murmured. "The question is, why? And how does it fit with that monstrousity next door, if at all?"

"They're linked, no question," Steed asserted, tapping one of the slabs absently. "Why else would they store them here, in such close proximity?"

"Who do you suppose they are?" Purdey wanted to know. The idea of these people lying here, unidentified, no more than test subjects in some sick new way of killing, made her want to mourn and give them a proper burial. Once she'd had a go at the people responsible, of course.

Gambit sighed the sigh of someone who knew the answer only too well. "Unfortunates, like Stanbury and Emerson, who were in the wrong place at the wrong time," he hazarded. "Maybe people from their own organization who planned on betraying them, or were just…expendable." He reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose, as though staving off a headache. "People can go missing…so easily. And eventually…everyone just…stops looking." The hand moved up to his eyes and rubbed them angrily, as though Gambit were trying to physically scrub away images that were burned into his brain. Steed noticed the gesture, and Purdey saw worry flutter across his features. He moved toward them, started to usher them toward the door.

"I'll finish up in here," Steed told the pair, glancing distractedly at the makeshift morgue. "You two can document the computer in the other room. Take a few more photos of the Leviathan. I want the Ministry's top boffins to have plenty of material to feast on."

"Aye aye," Gambit said, as jauntily as he could, indicating for Purdey to go ahead of him. She did, gladly. The morgue was giving her chills in more ways than one, temperature and lifeless corpses both sending shivers down her spine. It wasn't the fact that they were dead that bothered her. Not really. She'd been taken on more than one 'field trip' to the Ministry's morgue with her classmates, and they'd examined more than one lifeless cadaver. Purdey hadn't been disgusted by them. Instead, she'd felt sadness for these people who had lost their lives in connection to the service, in one way or another. But those corpses hadn't looked so peaceful, almost as though they really were asleep. Purdey knew that was the old cliché, but in this case it seemed true. It was true-the newer bodies hadn't been blemished in any way. They were perfectly preserved, in fact. Not a mark on them. Purdey half-expected them to get up and start walking around at any moment. She was quite happy to look at the computer instead.

Gambit removed the miniature camera from his pocket immediately, took a long shot of the behemoth. Purdey watched him, left with nothing to do at the moment. She decided to try and examine the machine instead, see if she could deduce its secrets.

"Do you really think this computer is responsible for all those people in there?" She pointed her chin at the door to the morgue, which had swung shut behind them.

"Anything's possible," Gambit opined, holding the camera lengthways in an attempt to get more of it in the frame. "In my experience, one thing people are infinitely good at is discovering new ways of killing, maiming, and torturing. It's been done with computers before, and it'll be done again. No reason good old Wollerton can't have come up with a way."

Purdey watched his face as he said it, saw something dark flutter across it, wondered what it was. "You sound as though you've had a lot of experience," she said, with more of a tremble in her voice than she would have liked.

"Yeah," Gambit murmured, so quietly she had to strain to hear him. "Probably too much." He paused from clicking the camera, and Purdey saw the mask slip for a moment, saw the jokes and the professionalism fade away and leave a man, just a man, fighting to maintain his composure. The sudden vulnerability was at once frightening, intriguing, and…endearing? Purdey swallowed hard. People she had spoken to had said there was something terrible in Gambit's past, a sort of black cloud that followed him around the Ministry corridors. Everyone had a theory, but only a select few knew for sure. Purdey had a feeling she was seeing its effects firsthand. But before she could try to probe further, Gambit looked up, and grinned gamely.

"We should probably give the backroom boys a scale indicator of some sort. Do you mind going and standing beside it, giving them something to compare it with?"

"Of course not." Purdey moved to stand next to the machine. She struck a pose, not unlike the one favoured by the models on the covers of the fashion magazines scattered over her coffee table at home. Gambit grinned and took a picture, then chuckled as Purdey changed her pose.

"Should I start giving you a photographer's patter? Work it, baby?" The last sentence was said with exaggerated flamboyance, and it was Purdey's turn to laugh.

"I can drape myself over it, if you think that will help."

"Not the case, but the backroom boys could probably do with a bit of an education on the female form. I don't know if they've seen anything without four corners in months. Other than Marjorie the tea lady." Gambit took another picture. "And when you're finished, you can drape yourself over me next. I can always use some snaps for the album."

Purdey laughed. "In your dreams, Mr. Gambit."

"Good guess." Gambit lowered the camera. "All right, that should be enough."

"Yes. Quite enough."

Purdey and Gambit whirled around in surprise at the new voice, only to discover a burly man holding a gun. He aimed it at Purdey.

"Step away from the machine."

Purdey did as she was bid. As she did so, Gambit's hand darted for the gun in his shoulder holster, but the man swung around and trained it on him, before he could reach it.

"Not so fast," he snapped. "Not one move." He glanced sideways at Purdey. "Over here, love. Come join your friend."

Purdey started to move toward Gambit carefully, eyeing up the gunman as she went. Gambit read the thoughts behind her eyes, shook his head. Don't rush him. Don't. Please don't. I can't watch you die right in front of me. He knew Purdey was an agent, knew she was going to have to face this sort of thing all the time, knew he wasn't always going to be there to help her or protect her. But right at this moment, he didn't care. She was new and inexperienced, and hell, he loved her too much to just let her go down, right here, before she even had a chance to make full agent. She had a future, a life to live, a career. It would be a waste to let her go now. She seemed to understand, thank goodness, and Gambit said a silent prayer praising the gunman for insisting that they be together. At least if she was close, he had a chance of getting between her and a bullet. Gambit didn't particularly enjoy being shot, but he'd had it happen quite a few times, and he knew where he could let himself be hit and avoid hitting anything vital. Purdey was supposed to be good at first-aid anyway. Maybe she could get merit points for plugging the hole in his ribs.

She came to stand beside him, to his right, and Gambit felt himself relax ever-so-slightly. Now they were together, he could stop or move her if need be. He started running through his options, trying to figure out his next move, as the guard unclipped a radio from his hip and spoke into it. The answer was difficult to make out, but Mike thought it sounded as though back-up would be slow in coming. That was good. Gambit suspected that the guard wouldn't kill them before they had a chance to talk. Not that he was planning on it, but every delay worked in their favour. He flicked his eyes toward the closed morgue door, wished Steed would provide a distraction of some sort. One gunman couldn't cover everyone at once, and all Mike needed was a few seconds to reach his own weapon. Alas, John Steed didn't appear to be obliging. Figures, Gambit thought sullenly, and started planning what to do instead.

Purdey, meanwhile, looked at their captor, then let her eyes flick aside to Gambit. He was tense, his body coiled like a spring, ready to take action. The blue eyes were fixed firmly on the man, alternating between the man's gun, then his face, then the rest of his body, before repeating the cycle. The man was mirroring Gambit's questing gaze, and Purdey realized that Mike was getting more than his share of the man's attention, only glancing Purdey's way occasionally. That meant he underestimated her. That could work in her advantage, both of theirs. She looked to Gambit again, at his unbuttoned jacket, felt a plan form in her mind. If only the man believed she was as helpless as she suspected.

"You're not going to hurt us, are you?" she asked, ensuring there was a tremor in her voice, letting her lower lip quiver ever-so-slightly. Beside her, she could see Gambit glance fleetingly aside to her in surprise. She ignored the questioning gaze, and focused on the man in front of them.

"Little girls who go where they're not supposed to should expect to get hurt," the man replied with a sickening leer. "The boss was very clear about what should happen to trespassers, although if he'd seen you, he might have made an exception."

Purdey let out a short, agonized shriek, and threw herself at Gambit in what she hoped was a convincing performance of the panicked female. "Mike," she sobbed, throwing one arm around his neck, "I don't want to die! I don't!" Gambit was gaping at her, looking both incredulous and shocked. Purdey hadn't seemed to the type to go off the deep end at the first hint of trouble. But now that the blue eyes could meet his without the gunman observing, he could see that Purdey wasn't nearly as panicked as she let on. The large blue eyes were clear of tears, even as she rattled off convincing sobs, and he was just starting to wonder what she was up to when he felt her other hand delve into his jacket, and take a firm grip on his Smith and Wesson. From behind, it would look as though she were wrapping an arm around his waist. Gambit felt the light dawn.

Just like the target range…

His eyes didn't leave hers, betraying his concern. If Purdey wasn't quick enough, then she would be the first to die. His gaze told her that, and, somehow, they managed to communicate with through the merest flicker of their eyes.

It's risky.

That's the job.

You don't have to do this. You don't have to prove yourself to me, to anyone.

I know, but it's our only chance, and you know it.

He felt himself nod, imperceptibly. Good luck, he told her, and in the privacy of his own mind added, Purdey.

She smiled slightly. Thank you…Mike.

"Enough of that, missy," the man barked. "Turn around, now."

Purdey complied, but at a much quicker than the man likely intended. Gambit felt her pull the gun free, even as she used his chest as a push-off point, to propel herself around. The gun coughed once, and their would-be murderer sank to the ground, a look of surprise etched onto his face.

Purdey stood, frozen to the spot, the still-smoking gun locked in her hands, eyes glued to the body of the man she had just killed. Her first kill, she realized belatedly, feeling the rush of adrenaline that had been pushing her to survive subsiding to leave her mind crystal clear and lucid enough to understand what she had just done.

Beside her, Gambit watched emotions shift and displace one another on her lovely face. The gun in her hands was starting to shake, and the hysteria she had feigned earlier was threatening to come on in earnest. Some of her hair had come loose from the updo in all the excitement, and now it hung in loose strands around her pale face. She looked so young now, so vulnerable, the blue eyes wide with shock. She hadn't been ready for this step into their world. Then again, Gambit wasn't certain that anyone was ever really ready. He certainly hadn't been. Quietly, slowly, so as not to startle her, he reached out and covered her hand on the gun with his, applying gentle downward pressure until it was pointing at the floor. His thumb coaxed hers to click the safety back into place, and then, gently, he worked at her fingers, now clutching the instrument of death with an iron grip, until she released it, put it back in his holster.

"Gambit!" It was Steed's voice, and it preceded the agent himself. He took one look at the dead goon, then at the stricken Purdey, before glancing to Gambit for confirmation. The younger agent went to stand beside him.

"Did she?" Steed voiced the question quietly.

"She had to," Gambit replied. "She pretended to have a fit and threw herself at me. It was the only way she could get it without being caught, and if I'd twitched my little finger, he would have taken us both. She saved our lives."

Steed nodded, put a hand on Purdey's shoulder. "Miss Bryde, are you all right?"

Purdey was still staring at the man's body. "No," she whispered.

Steed patted the shoulder reassuringly. "I'm sure you'll adjust in time."

"No, not that," Purdey hissed, raising a trembling finger to point at the body. "He's not dead!"

Steed and Gambit whirled around, saw that she was right. The guard wasn't yet dead, and was instead focussed on Purdey. Steed hurried over and dropped to his knees beside the dying man.

"What is this machine?" he asked urgently. "What does it do? What is it that Wollerton's planning? Answer me!"

But the guard wasn't interested in Steed's questions. Instead, he looked at Purdey and smiled. "Bryde," he rasped. "Knew I'd seen…before. Takes…after…her father." The eyes glazed over, and the man's head lolled back in death. Steed frowned at the dead man's cryptic last words, rose slowly.

Purdey backed away as Steed and Gambit turned to her, eyes confused and questioning. "Miss Bryde?" Gambit asked in puzzlement, but also with dawning suspicion. "What did he mean, you take after your father? Did you know him?"

Purdey shook her head, eyes still glued to the dead man in front of her. "I've never seen him before."

"I think it's safe to assume he'd seen you," Steed observed, turning back to the corpse. "But I doubt you moved in the same circles."

Purdey swallowed, looked down at her feet. She didn't want to tell them, but on the other hand, she couldn't keep it a secret forever. "I didn't," she said quietly, and heard Steed and Gambit whirl back toward her. "But he may know my father. Knew him."

"How?" The single word left Gambit's lips without his permission, and he chastised himself internally for it. Purdey seemed willing to give an answer regardless.

"My father—" Purdey broke off, knowing her voice was ready to start trembling, took a moment to fend off the tears. "My father was shot as a spy," she tried again. "It'll be ten years in April."

Gambit sucked in his breath sharply. That explained a lot. Purdey looked up at them now, blue eyes serious, controlled, although he suspected they hadn't been a moment ago.

"Jonathan Bryde," she continued. "That was his name. He didn't belong to the Ministry. Most of his assignments were international. You didn't mix in the same circles," she said to Steed, "but he knew you. Knew of you, in any case. You might have been equals, if he was still alive today."

Steed smiled slightly. "I don't doubt it."

"It was in Brazil," Purdey went on, eyes distant even as she focused on the corpse. "That's where it happened. They didn't tell my mother and me many of the details. Not that it mattered. It was a month before my 18th birthday, and all the papers latched onto it. I had reporters hounding me for months while the government made inquiries." She smiled sadly. "Needless to say, I've had better times."

"I'm sorry," Gambit offered, but it seemed pretty damn weak to him. Words weren't anywhere near enough for something like this. Actions, on the other hand…But he wasn't certain how Purdey would take it if he gave in, and did what every fibre of his being longed to. To take the simultaneously fragile and resilient girl in his arms, and do his best to alleviate all her past wounds. Oddly enough, he thought she could very easily do the same for him.

Her eyes flicked his way, and he could tell she was checking to see if he really meant it, or was just following the script. She must have realized he was sincere, because the blue eyes cleared ever so slightly. "But don't you see?" she exclaimed, turning back to Steed. "That's why I don't go by Bryde. People know me, they remember my father. They've been latching onto my surname since he died. But if I drop it, they leave me alone. That's why I want the Ministry to strike it—in this job they know me even better. People remember him and it only causes problems. If I'm recognized, everyone's put at risk."

Steed nodded sagely. There weren't many second-generation agents. In fact, he was hard-pressed to think of one just now. They were a rare breed, mostly because the first generation didn't live long enough to have any offspring. But even those that did survive to retirement weren't likely to settle down. Wives were a little more common, but children were out of the question—as much joy as they brought, it was always painfully obvious to an agent that he had just brought a perfect little hostage into the world for the enemy to take advantage of. As a result, most agents never reproduced. Of the few that did, the likelihood that they would follow their parents into the family business was slight—particularly if the agent had met his end in the line of duty, as Purdey's had. It made him wonder what had compelled Purdey to choose this line of work. Something wasn't being said…

But now was not the time to ask her to say it.

"We should leave," Steed said to the younger pair. "I'm sure he radioed for assistance. Reinforcements will be arriving at any moment."

"Give her a moment," Gambit temporized, removing his tuxedo jacket and draping it over Purdey's shoulders.

"At the risk of sounding heartless, we don't have a minute," Steed said tersely. "There's no telling how many people are coming, but I can assure you they'll all be armed for bear."

"I know that," Gambit snapped back. "But they'll need time to marshal their forces. Give her a minute."

"Gambit, I'm not in the mood—"

"Neither am I!" Gambit growled, striding over until Steed and he were face-to-face. "And I don't give a damn what you say. She's just done something no one should ever have to do."

"Something every agent has to do," Steed reminded. "And I'd watch my tone, if I were you."

"To hell with my tone," Gambit shot back. "Yes, she's going to have to get used to it, but it doesn't make it any easier when it happens. I know we hardly think twice about it anymore, but then we left all our innocence behind years ago. But when you were sliding knives between ribs back in '61, she was 13 and trying to avoid maths. You know, having a normal childhood. Think about that while you give her a minute!"

Steed was mildly taken aback, both at Gambit's tone and the look in his eyes. He could see the younger man was very close to hitting him, and just as likely to manage it, in the way that only truly spontaneous acts can manage the impossible. Steed was fairly certain he could block Gambit from doing him any serious damage, despite the younger man's formidable combat skills. But now, when it was Purdey on the line, he had the feeling that Gambit was running on a higher level, another plane that rendered him almost infallible. Clearly his affection for Purdey was combining with his own past traumas to push him beyond even his regular exceptional abilities. All he needed was one tiny little extra nudge, and John Steed would find himself with a bloody nose.

"All right," he said, almost soothingly, raising placating hands. The last he wanted or needed was to get into a fistfight with his partner. "We'll give her a minute."

"I don't need one." Purdey's voice cut through the tension like a knife. She had moved to join them without either of them noticing. She removed Gambit's jacket from her shoulders and handed it back to him. "At least, not another one."

"You're sure?" Gambit inquired, eyes searching her face. "We can wait."

"I'm fine," Purdey said firmly, reaching up to fix her hair.

"You realize we'll have to leave without you?" Steed reminded. "You'll have to keep your compsure, all of your emotions in check, while you're alone with them after all the guests have gone. If they have even an inkling you've had something to do with what's happened down here…" He let the sentence hang. Everyone knew the implications by this point.

"I understand," Purdey said firmly. "And I'll be all right. Really. Come on, then. We don't want to get caught, and we'll be missed if we don't return soon. I'll brief you on what you need to know about the presentation as we go. Shall we?" She stepped out through the large doors, and Gambit and Steed followed silently. There was nothing more to be said.


	11. Heart to Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, John Steed, and Thomas McKay. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended
> 
> Timeline: First in a series. Takes place in late December, 1975, a full four months before the start of the series in April, 1976. It is strongly recommended that you go back and read the previous story in the arc, Lost Boys. Those interested in the rest of the series are, of course, invited to read the subsequent stories in the arc.
> 
> For more information about the series, please see my profile.
> 
> \--------------------------------------------

Gambit raised his hand to knock, then let it drop again. This was stupid. He had no business turning up here, and for what? To offer advice? She'd think he was some know-it-all prat, making benevolent gestures to a younger agent in need of guidance. Why didn't he just pat her hand and offer her a cup of tea while he was at it? He pondered just leaving, turning around and walking back up those 21 steps—he'd counted—that led down to the basement flat and going home to get some sleep. That would be the professional thing to do, the easy thing to do. Purdey probably wasn't in the mood for visitors anyway.

But the memories told him otherwise. What he would have given for someone to sit down with him and talk him through one of the most traumatising events of his life. And if he could do that for another…

He was gently tapping on the door before he could stop himself. No getting out of it now…

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Purdey peered through her curtains at the visitor, a good practice in this business when people called at one in the morning. She saw who it was and took a deep breath before easing the door open.

Gambit was standing there, hands in pockets, looking like a nervous schoolboy called to the headmaster's office. "Hi," he greeted carefully.

Purdey smiled a little. "Hi," she reciprocated, and waited for Gambit to say something about the purpose of his visit. Or pick up the conversation. Or do anything, really.

He stood there for a moment, as though unsure of how to proceed, eyes darting around frantically. "Er, I was just passing by. Your light was on, so I thought you must still be up, and that I'd just, uh—"

"Check up on me?" Purdey finished with a smile, leaning on the door frame.

"Yes. I mean, no. I mean, only if you want me to." He looked heavenward in frustration. "Never mind. I'll go. Sorry for—sorry." He stumbled back into the dark, meaning to go back up the steps and pound his forehead against the wall for a good half hour.

"Wait!" Purdey called after him, not sure why, except she didn't want to be alone, and she felt better with Gambit here. He glanced back at her, eyes shining green in the porchlight. Green? Weren't they blue before? Purdey shook her head to clear it. "Would you like to come in for a nightcap?"

He stood, one foot on the bottom stair, regarding her uncertainly. "Only if you want me to," he repeated, jaw working gently.

Purdey chuckled. "If I didn't want you to, I wouldn't ask, would I?"

Gambit nodded thoughtfully, as though that logic made sense, and left the step to pass Purdey and enter her flat. She closed the door carefully behind her, made sure the latch clicked into place. She wanted the extra security tonight.

Gambit was standing only a few paces from the door, in the no man's land between the kitchen and her living area, as though afraid to venture any further without express permission. Purdey crossed her arms and watched him in the soft light, eyes scanning his surroundings with interest. The silhouette was slim and lithe, but undeniably strong. Purdey looked down briefly while she composed herself, willing away the desire to feel strong arms around her shoulders after what she'd done. After a moment, she was able to look at Gambit's back without feeling wobbly, and she walked past him, making for the small cabinet where she hid her tipple.

"What's your pleasure?" she asked her colleague, then immediately regretted the word choice. Gambit smirked ever-so-slightly, and she could hear the humour in his voice.

"I could answer that a dozen different ways," he chuckled, "but seeing as I'd prefer to keep the drinks out of my face, I'll take a small whiskey, if you've got it."

"I do," Purdey assured, turning to pour him one. Gambit let himself return to looking over her flat in the meantime.

He hadn't been entirely certain of what to expect of Purdey's inner sanctum, but what he saw somehow both surprised him and reaffirmed his impressions of the girl. On the one hand, there was the bright décor, all pinks and purples—violet walls and silky patterned sheets, barely visible through the curtain of beads that served as the only barrier between the living room and the undiscovered territory of her bedroom. Gambit swallowed a little, and tried focusing on details instead of possibilities. The sheets were undisturbed, indicating that Purdey hadn't even attempted to put her head down for the night. That clue, along with the gauzy curtains, the plush couch, the untidy spread of fashion magazines, the mauve piano, all combined to paint a picture of a girl who was unashamedly feminine, maybe even soft and vulnerable. That fit with the untested trainee, the young agent in over her head, the girl that had bitten off more than she could chew. On the other hand, it seemed at odds with the hint of steel he'd sensed beneath the surface, solid and capable, ready to do what it took to succeed in a job that was less than accommodating to women. Gambit had half-expected the efficient, no-nonsense attitude of the secretary act to have crossed over into her decorating. It only proved him right, that Purdey had more layers than met the eye. Even the barre, framed by soft curtains and placed before a wall-mounted mirror, hinted at both the graceful art of ballet, and the discipline of a woman who kept herself in peak physical condition. Gambit made a mental note to watch her in action at least once. At the very least it would be a good show. It was possible he'd even learn something.

Purdey approached to hand him his drink, and he could see both women on display, just as clearly as he had only days earlier—the businesslike front covering for the unsure, vulnerable side. Gambit wondered what she saw when she looked at him, wondered if she could delve beneath the rumoured playboy bachelor, the unidimensional stereotype, and seek out the man within. Gambit sighed inwardly. Probably not. For all he knew, he didn't have more than one layer, although long nights lying awake following a certain three month period of his life had led him to believe otherwise.

Purdey had a drink of her own, and she smiled lopsidedly at her guest. "I won't throw a fit if you sit down," she promised, gesturing for him to take a seat on the couch. "Not tonight, in any case."

Gambit felt relieved at being given the go-ahead, lowered himself gratefully into the cushions while Purdey did the same beside him. They sat, sipping drinks in companionable silence, while Gambit tried to suss what to say. He hadn't gotten this far in his head— in every scenario he chose to envision, either he had backed out or Purdey had slammed the door in his face. Now he had to follow up on his intentions, and he didn't know where to start. Fortunately, Purdey did.

"So," she began, lowering her glass from her mouth, "when do the wise words begin?"

Gambit snapped back from his thoughts with a start. "Sorry?"

Purdey swirled her liquor around in the glass. "Wise words. Pearls of wisdom. Guidance. Whatever you want to call it. It is why you came." It was a statement, not a question, and Gambit knew there was no avoiding it. "You do have some?"

"I thought I did," Gambit said ruefully, "but that was before I had an audience."

"An audience in her dressing gown," Purdey reminded wryly. "Not exactly intimidating. Or didn't you notice?"

"The brain's gone on leave, but the eyes work fine," Gambit assured, grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, "but I didn't think you were in the mood to appreciate the compliment."

Purdey shook her head. "I'm not exactly weeping into my pillow," she pointed out.

"Never said you were," Gambit replied. "Something like this, the way it hits you isn't that obvious."

Purdey arched an eyebrow. "And how do you know how it's affected me?"

Gambit sighed. "I don't," he admitted. "Look, all I do know is, when I first did what you did, I didn't have anyone to tell me if what I was feeling was normal, or how to cope. No indicator, no line in the sand, because there isn't one. So you do your best under the circumstances, tell yourself that he was the enemy, that he would have killed you given the chance. But it doesn't get past the fact that there was a man out there, with a life. Went to the chemist's and slept and ate, and now he's never going to do any of it ever again because of you." He set his glass down and rubbed his temples as though hit with a sudden migraine. "Miss Bryde…Purdey, there's no clear cut way, no formula, no treatment to get you through this. Believe me, I've looked." He pulled his hands away, and there was an emptiness in the eyes that both frightened her and drew her in. Somehow, she knew her own pools of blue looked much the same.

She hadn't stopped him, and he went on, even though he felt as though he was rambling. "There are hundred ways of coping," he told her, "and everyone's quick to tell you you're doing it wrong, and aren't too helpful when it comes to doing it right. But the best way I've come up with is to find someone who's done it, too. I never really put it into practice, not when I needed to. But you can be the guinea pig, if you think it'll help." He downed the last of his drink and set the empty glass on the coffee table. Purdey was silent, eyes down as she stared off into nothingness. Gambit felt his courage waver, and started to wish he hadn't come. She had enough on her mind without him coming in and laying his own demons on her. Get out before she resents it…

"Why do you do it?"

The question was so unexpected it took him a moment to gather his thoughts. At first he thought she was humouring him, but her expression was earnest. No one had ever asked Gambit why he wanted to do what he did—no one outside his cousin, at any rate. Even Steed had danced around it, relying on implications rather than putting the question into a simple string of words. He felt around for the first reason that came to mind.

"Because I'm good at it," he said with a slight tremor in his voice. He shrugged and smiled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "Sounds horrible, but it's true. I'm good at it." He worked his jaw. "Maybe too good. Know too much, too many ways to do the job."

Purdey shook her head. "That's not a reason," she protested. "That's a job description. Why are you here and not filling out forms somewhere, or working the docks, or running a small business? Why do you do it if it's so hard?"

Gambit thought about it. "Because someone has to do it, and it may as well be me. Because after spending most of my life living on the edge I don't know if I could be satisfied with filling out forms in an office all day." He sobered up suddenly. "Because there's no one to miss me if I don't come home."

Purdey felt her heart break. She put a gentle hand out to touch Gambit's arm. "I'm sure that's not true. You must have someone."

"Oh, I've got some family," Gambit agreed. "And they'll be less than thrilled the day I snap my neck or a bullet hits somewhere they can't operate. But it's not the same sticking around just for auntie. Your dad, he'd know what I mean. He had something to go back to, someone else to worry about. I've just got me."

"And me," Purdey pointed out. "And Steed. And I know you've got friends among the other agents." She smiled knowingly. "And the secretary pool would be heartbroken."

Gambit shook his head. "Not the same," he disagreed. "Besides, as far as Steed's concerned, I'm just one of the pack. If I go, it's close the file, move on, find someone else to do his dirty work. And as for you." He shrugged. "And I don't know where you'll end up, Purdey Bryde, but once you're on someone's team after training, you'll probably have forgotten all about me."

Purdey smiled a lopsided smile. "I doubt that. You've made an impression, Mr. Gambit. I'd say more, but I don't want to spend the rest of this case deflating your ego."

Gambit's grin was endearingly vulnerable, with a little hope mixed in. "Haven't disappointed you, at least," he murmured, idly turning his empty glass. "Sorry, this was meant to be about you, wasn't it?"

"I did get that impression," Purdey said dryly, "but this is very…informative."

Gambit raised an eyebrow. "'Informative?' Like a detergent commercial on the telly?"

"No," Purdey objected. "Just…no one's ever talked about the job quite like this. I mean, they don't mince words about what you'll have to do, but no one wants to talk about the fallout."

"Bad for business," Gambit said sourly. "Even with the sorts that volunteer to begin with. Everyone's got some story about the point of no return. Most aren't keen on letting you in on it." He let the glass alone, but Purdey could see wheels turning instead, as though he were debating again. I wish I could get into that brain of yours. "If I asked you yours," Gambit blurted out suddenly, "would you take offense?"

Purdey started in surprise. "My what?"

"Your story," Gambit elaborated, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "I've been trying to figure you out ever since you walked into Steed's. Most of the time, I can get an idea, a hint, something, about why a bloke's decided that this is the job for him." He shook his head. "But you. You should be out there living some brilliant life, not going around killing people. Especially after your dad…" He broke off, looked away. "No, that's wrong. Not my business."

"You want to know why," Purdey repeated quietly, and she didn't sound angry, so he looked back again. "Part of me still wonders about that, if I'm mad to even be here. Only, I think I want to know what he knew, why he thought this job was so important it was worth leaving us behind. What he found so addictive." What I can do to stop more people like Larry. "And I think," she added thoughtfully, surprised at herself for verbalizing what she had so far only dared to contemplate in the privacy of her own mind, "that I have a little bit of my father's thrill-seeking in me. I think I knew, deep down, somewhere, that I wanted something more than a straight-forward nine to five." Her eyes were distant. "I suppose it all goes back to that summer." She was silent for a moment, and Gambit wondered if she'd forgotten he was there for the memories. He was just about to clear his throat in an attempt to bring her back, but she beat him to the punch, the words coming on their own.

"It was when I was young," Purdey began. "Sixteen. Someone made an attempt on my mother and me. An assassination attempt."

Gambit blinked. "What?"

"I don't know who he was," Purdey went on, eyes still seeing the long dead past. "I just remember dropping one of my ballet shoes, and when I bent down to pick it up…" She sliced a hand through the air above her head. "My father wasn't home, so it was up to my mother and me to hold the fort after we rang my uncle. Luckily we had that shotgun over the mantle." She smiled lopsidedly. "A Purdey. And I don't think it was a coincidence that dad kept that box of ammunition under the couch."

Gambit's jaw dropped in disbelief. "Don't tell me you shot him?"

Purdey frowned, looked to him for the first time. "Don't be silly. My mother was the one who got him. In the shoulder."

Gambit whistled. "One for Mrs. Bryde."

"She claimed it was a horrible experience, but I think she was a little proud of it. Not that she'd admit it in a million years." Purdey laughed. "And it was horrible, I'll admit. But there was something oddly thrilling about it. I remember dad didn't know whether to be happy or concerned that I'd taken it so well."

"And that attempt, it didn't make him want to quit?" Gambit asked in disbelief.

Purdey smiled fondly. "It only made him mad," she revealed. "After that, he was more determined than ever to do the job, and do it well."

"And that's what you want?" Gambit inferred. "The thrill? The risk? The drive? You've never gotten over it?"

"I thought I had." Purdey had gone solemn again. "After he died, I didn't want to take any sort of risk ever again. I wanted safety, security, not thrills."

"Something brought it back, then," Gambit pressed. "Because you've picked the wrong job if you're looking for predictable."

"I tried, believe me," Purdey said softly, wishing Larry's face would quit flashing before her eyes. "The predictable. It wasn't as predictable as I thought. And the risky streak came back. Only it's gotten more…intense in recent years, if you catch my meaning."

Gambit nodded, all of his attention fixated on her face. Purdey continued, trying to rephrase it in her own mind, to make him understand.

"I mean, I've been a bit of a daredevil ever since I could walk, but then, a few years back…" Her eyes turned to the memory, long ago and far away, and yet so vivid she could almost feel the slap burn her cheek. No matter how comfortable she felt around Gambit at the moment, it was too soon to speak of that day. "Something happened," she told him vaguely, "and I got a little more reckless." She smiled sadly. "Might have been suicidal if I weren't so level-headed. But there's a certain degree of—"

"Ambivalence," Gambit said in unison with her, and Purdey blinked in surprise. "How did you know?" she whispered in awe.

Gambit just smiled the sad smile again, went back to the glass. "That was me, after an incident of my own," he confided.

"Related to your first kill?" Purdey queried, bursting with curiousity about this portion of his past, but too sensitive to ask him directly.

"You might say that," Gambit agreed. "But I know the feeling. Where it seems like there couldn't be too much out there to miss if you just dropped off the face of the earth tomorrow."

"And putting your life back together is the most daunting thing in the world," Purdey chimed in. "You go some dark places,"

"Think some dark things," Gambit chorused along, eyes locked with hers in a sort of mutual trance.

"And you think that if you don't do something with yourself, you'll go mad," Purdey whispered.

"But the whole damn world seems too much."

"And people worry," Purdey tremored, remembering her mother, desperately trying to dig her daughter out of her doldrums.

"Family," Gambit agreed, hearing Sara's voice telling him it was all right after he'd woken up screaming again.

"Friends."

"And you can't help but resent them for interfering, and love them for trying," Gambit murmured. "But in the end, if they're good at it, and you try, you end up piecing yourself together. It's hard, and I'd be lying if I said you'll ever be quite the same again, but life goes on, and it can be pretty damn wonderful, Purdey-girl." He grinned at the sudden endearment, but didn't bother to correct himself. "Just don't ever lose touch with that part of you that's stayed innocent through everything that's happened."

Purdey smiled sadly. "How do you know I even have a part like that?"

"You do," Gambit asserted with conviction, "I can see it."

Purdey smiled, a little brighter this time. "I can see yours, too."

"Can you? Well, that's one thing we've got in common."

"Innocence?"

"Issues," Gambit quipped. "By the boatload. We'll have to find something else a little less depressing to chat about, I think."

"What about…old movies?" Purdey suggested, feeling better already.

"I can work with that. The Thin Man?"

Purdey shook her head. "How to Steal a Million."

Gambit raised an eyebrow. "For pleasure or instruction? Burglary's got its own thrills. Something to fall back on if the spy gig doesn't work out?"

Purdey wrinkled her nose. "You're one to talk. From what I've heard, you've had enough career changes for six of you."

"More or less," Gambit agreed cheerfully. "It's probably not the end, either."

Purdey propped her chin in her hand. "How many more?"

Gambit shrugged. "Have to see, won't I? But I think I'll hang about here for a bit, now that the working environment's gotten interesting."

Purdey smiled at the implied compliment. "If you stay long enough, you're liable to be promoted."

Gambit shuddered dramatically. "Don't say the p-word. I'm already dodging the paperwork."

"You're halfway there already, then," Purdey said brightly, "if Steed's any indication."

"Hmm," was Gambit only comment. "What about you? In for the long haul?"

For the first time since they'd started on the movies, Purdey's smile fell. "I'm not sure," she admitted, and Gambit's own grin faded at the idea of losing the lovely Purdey Bryde to the hazards of the job. Part of him liked the idea of her getting out before she saw any more. The other, selfish half was only concerned with how much fun he'd miss with her gone. She pondered her fingernails, sighed. "It's still a lot to absorb."

Gambit reached out and put a tentative arm around her shoulders. She didn't jerk away. It didn't even occur to her to do so. Because somehow she knew that Gambit wasn't making a pass, wouldn't even try in a situation like this. She trusted him. It was a sensation she hadn't experienced in a very long time—not from someone that wasn't a blood relation, at least. She closed her eyes and focused on Mike's hand—when had he stopped being 'Mr. Gambit' in her mind?—and the feeling of his thumb gently stroking her arm through the sleeve of her dressing gown. She turned her head to look at him, but he was staring ahead, as though afraid of her reaction. She didn't know that inside he'd gone all squishy, and that the sight of those blue eyes would make him lose all his nerve. He swallowed to wet a dry throat, concentrated on keeping his voice steady.

"I know it's not my business," he began, and Purdey snapped to attention beside him, "and you've got to do what's right for you. But if my opinion counts at all…" He half-shrugged. "I think it'd be a mistake for you not to stay on. You've got the talent, and I think you're made of sterner stuff, even if you don't feel it right now." The ghost of a smile passed over his lips, but he still didn't look at her. "Course, I've seen your legs, so I'm a bit biased."

Purdey snorted with laughter. "I'll keep that in mind," she promised.

He actually turned to look at her this time. "Then I should also mention that I get lonely," he added, and Purdey suddenly didn't see the joke, because she wasn't sure there was one. No rumour she'd picked up in the Ministry hallways had made any mention of this side of the man, and she felt a bit guilty for being so quick to subscribe to the swinging bachelor stereotype. Everyone was vulnerable, one way or another, and it wouldn't do to forget that. Not that she would now, not ever, not with those eyes switching back from green to blue, to conceal the sadness behind them.

Before she knew what she was doing, she reached out to rest a gentle hand on Gambit's arm, and he brought his eyes to meet hers. "Mike…"

The doorbell rang, and Purdey and Gambit both started guiltily, like a couple of teenagers caught making out on the couch when the parents came home. Purdey hurriedly withdrew her hand, tried not to think about whatever it was she would have done had there not been an interruption. She rose from the couch and made her way to the door, absently tugging the lapels of her dressing gown together before she peeked through the curtain at the newcomer.

Just as well. Three's a crowd.

She opened the door to Steed, smiling beatifically. "Steed!" she greeted. "What are you doing here this time of night?"

"Just passing through," Steed explained, glancing over her shoulder. "I've only just finished dealing with the man you had to, ah—"

"Kill?" Purdey said flatly.

"Yes," Steed agreed, thankful that Purdey seemed put-together enough to not mince words. "But I thought I'd check in on you, just in case. Of course, it looks like you're in good hands already."

Purdey felt a presence behind her, and looked over her shoulder at Gambit, who was standing just to the right of the door, looking distinctly uncomfortable. She could feel the awkward silence building already, and she broke it before things got oppressive.

"Gambit had the same idea," she put in lightly. "I'm awfully flattered at all the attention, but I think the neighbors might be getting the wrong idea."

"Yes, there was a woman across the way who seemed terribly interested in watching me get out of my car," Steed murmured, frowning in thought.

Purdey sighed. "That would be Mrs. Peabody. She suffers from insomnia, among other things."

"I see. I've an aunt called Peabody. Drinks like a fish." They were avoiding the issue, and they all knew it. Gambit started to sidle past Purdey, desperate to put the lot of them out of their misery.

"Right, I've said my piece, Miss Bryde. You'll sleep better, I hope?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes," Purdey agreed, trying her best to look innocent. "Yes, thank you. Both of you. I'll be all right."

"Good," Steed said cheerfully, checking his watch. "Why don't we reconvene here tomorrow morning? I'd like to fill you in on one or two things before you got back to taking memos."

"Yes, that'll be fine," Purdey said hastily, already closing the door. "But it's awfully late. I think I'd better turn in, or I'll be asleep at my typewriter tomorrow. Good night."

"Good night," said Steed.

"Good night," Gambit chimed in.

Purdey shut her door gratefully, and leaned against it. Then she let out a sigh, and shook her head. She was out of the conversation. Steed and Gambit had to walk up 21 steps together.

Gambit didn't know what to say to Steed, but the senior agent was looking entirely too smug for Gambit to try and sneak anything past him. As it turned out, Steed was the one to make the first move, as soon as they'd reached the top of the staircase.

"You like her, then." It was a statement, not a question.

Gambit nodded. "A little," he allowed.

Steed twirled his brolly. "More than a little."

"All right, more than a little," Gambit agreed, shoving hands in pockets to ward off the chill December air.

"And you work well together," Steed went on.

Gambit scowled. "I never said I couldn't work with a partner," he pointed out. "It was always about whether I wanted to—"

"I'd say you want to now," Steed murmured, "unless you made midnight calls on Radcliffe, or any of the other men McKay had you work with."

"Not if I could help it," Gambit grumbled, knowing Steed had seen through him completely, and hating it. "Fine. You win."

"I don't know what you mean," Steed said cheerfully. "See you tomorrow." He turned and offered a cheery wave to Mrs. Peabody, who had broken out the binoculars and settled in by her window for the long haul before climbing into his Jag and taking off. Gambit watched him go with grudging admiration. Not only was the man right, but he was right often. Very often. Gambit could only hope he'd be the same after a couple of decades with the service.

He hoped he was right about Purdey. If she didn't stay on, he knew there wasn't going be another partner for him. Not ever. Because there would never be another Purdey. He cast a glance back at her window, but it had gone dark. She really had gone to bed. He breathed in the cool night air and sighed, not a sigh of defeat, but of hope.

"Sleep well, Purdey Bryde."

Steed's phone call roused Purdey the next morning, informing her that they would be sketching out their plan of attack before she went into the office. Not fifteen minutes later, Mike Gambit turned up. Purdey let him in, and turned around immediately to head back to the kitchen, not bothering to observe the formalities, or mention their late-night discussion. She wasn't keen on revisiting her moment of weakness. It reminded her that she was becoming dangerously susceptible to Mike Gambit's charms, particularly when his vulnerable streak shone through, and she was determined not to give him another chance to display it. Mercifully, he didn't seem inclined to pursue the matter. Instead, he followed her, peered over her shoulder with interest. "Breakfast, Miss Bryde? That's very…er, domestic, of you, isn't it?"

Purdey wrinkled her nose as she turned to look at Gambit. "Don't get any ideas," she warned. "I was cooking for myself, but my mother told me it was rude to not do the same for company."

"I'm not too worried about the motivation," Gambit told her, eyeing the food appreciatively, "when it looks that good."

"Omelettes," Purdey explained, prodding at the fluffy folded over egg with a spatula. "I'm famous for them."

"Among other things," Gambit added with a wicked grin, wandering over to inspect the ingredients. He found a bag of marshmallows and held it up for Purdey to see. "Snacking while you work?"

Purdey shook her head. "Don't be silly. Those go in the omelette."

Gambit turned a little green and let the packet drop. "Maybe I'll stick with coffee," he murmured, wandering over to where Purdey's seldom-used machine was percolating merrily.

"Oh, don't be tiresome," Purdey tsked, sliding the finished product onto a plate and starting to crack the eggs to prepare the next. "You can stick with everyday ingredients if your tastes are so unimaginative. What do you want, then?"

"Anything but the gelatin, thanks," Gambit said in relief. Purdey set about adding bacon and cheese while he sought out a cup and saucer for the morning brew. He poured and inhaled. Purdey watched with amusement as the mere scent lit his face up like a Christmas tree. Gambit caught her look out of the corner of his eye, and raised his cup in a toast before taking a sip.

"Coffee," he rhapsodized. "My one true love. Seen me through some trying times."

Purdey smirked. "Really? I didn't know you were monogamous."

"You'd be surprised," Gambit teased with a spark in the blue eyes. "Faithful, too."

"You're an addict, then?" Purdey said brightly.

"I prefer to think of myself as committed," Gambit reasoned.

"Sometimes I think you ought to be," Purdey muttered, then went on when Gambit shot her a look. "It can't be healthy, you know. All that caffeine. Have you ever tried giving it up?"

Gambit shrugged. "There've been a few trial separations, I'll admit. And times when it wasn't available. But in the end you can't fight a good thing." His eyes trailed up to the nape of her neck, visible beneath the pinned-back blonde hair, smooth and elegant. He swallowed a lump that had unaccountably formed in his throat. "I don't even mean to try," he murmured. She turned her head and arched an eyebrow at him.

"Well, that's your problem. In case you didn't notice, we have other ones to attend to." She spoke briskly, sliding his omelette onto another plate, and bringing both over to the table. "When did Steed say he'd be here?"

"Should be any minute now," Gambit replied, moving from the counter to sit across from her at the table, setting his coffee cup down next to his plate. "Speaking of problems," he added, with a gentleness in his voice that hadn't been there before, "how are you holding up?"

Purdey froze, knife and fork poised over her creation. The blue eyes rose to meet his, blazing with defiance, but with a certain amount of uncertainty flickering behind them. "You mean after last night?" He nodded, working his jaw a little. "Well, it'll take some getting used to, but it is part of the job, and after talking about it, well…I do feel better. I'll be all right."

"I helped, then?" Gambit looked genuinely happy that he'd been of service. "I mean, the last thing we need on this team is another battle-scarred veteran."

"I'm not even considering joining that club at the moment," Purdey assured.

"Don't bother with it in the future, either," Gambit advised. "More than enough of us there already. It's getting crowded." He watched her tuck into her food thoughtfully before speaking again. "Maybe I should make a habit of dropping in. After all, if I can help you in your hour of need…"

"Don't flatter yourself, Mr. Gambit," Purdey warned around a bite of marshmallowy egg. "And don't get into bad habits, either."

"Are you going to tell me to clean my plate next?" Gambit quipped.

"I will if you're going to let it go cold. Come on, I'm not dragging dead weight with me all morning because you didn't eat breakfast."

"I usually have cornflakes," Gambit said conversationally, turning to his own food. "Easier to make, but not nearly as filling."

"I could put them in an omelette," Purdey offered.

"That's all right," Gambit demurred, taking a bite. "This is delicious. How much to have you drop by weekday mornings? Of course, if you stayed the night it'd save on petrol…" The eyebrows waggled, and Purdey sighed in exaggerated exasperation.

"Just eat. I don't have all morning."

Steed arrived fifteen minutes later, too late for omelettes, but seemingly sanguine about that fact. Instead of sampling Purdey's cooking, he unrolled a blueprint on her kitchen table, using Purdey and Gambit's dirty plates to weight down the sides before they could curl up again. Purdey and Gambit leaned over his shoulders with interest, taking in the sketch.

"That's Wollerton's manor house, isn't it?" Purdey identified, running a finger over the plans. "There's the main ballroom, and under here, that must be where he stores the computer, or whatever it is."

"Part computer," Steed confirmed. "The boffins have been all night at it, and from Gambit's photos, they've identified it as a computerized generator of some sort. They think it might release an electromagnetic pulse."

Gambit's eyebrows sprang up. "That can't be good."

"No," Steed agreed. "Which is why we're going to break in tonight and disable it. According to our men, Wollerton helpfully included a self-destruct mechanism. We think we know how to activate it."

"But we don't even know what it does!" Purdey pointed out. "Should we destroy it before we find out?"

"It's killed 26 people as far as we know. I'd rather not give it the chance at any more," Steed said sharply, then softened when he saw Purdey take a step back. "I'm sorry, Miss Bryde. I understand your reasoning, but I can only assume that Wollerton plans to use this machine to end more lives in the very near future. I don't want to give it a chance, even if it means losing the opportunity to acquire some new technology."

"Don't think the backroom boys haven't had the same thought," Gambit added, smiling at her encouragingly. "They love having something new to poke and prod. But we're on a deadline. Can't have everything."

"I understand," Purdey defended, trying to regain her composure after having her confidence shaken. She moved back to Steed's side to look at the plans. "How are we going to get in? We can't exactly walk through the front door. No invitations this time."

"That," Steed said, "is a very good question, one which Gambit and I will be tackling while you're at your place of work."

Purdey frowned. "I'm not going to help you?" she asked, disappointment creasing her features.

"Indeed you are," Steed assured. "With the actual mechanics. But we can't have you disappearing today. Wollerton may suspect something if his newest employee suddenly goes AWOL. So I'm afraid you'll have to put in one last day of dictation, if you can manage it?"

Purdey sighed. "I suppose I'll have to, won't I? I can't say I'm not disappointed. I was looking forward to watching the pair of you doodle all over this. They say drawings give you a window into the psyche."

Gambit smirked. "Probably just as well you're leaving, then. It'll spare your blushes."

"Hmm," was all Purdey had to say on the matter, but she cocked her head to one side with interest. "I'm sure they don't resemble anything remotely possible in real life at all."

"Oh, you'd be surprised," Gambit murmured, waggling his eyebrows at her wickedly. Purdey shook her head and started to make for the bedroom.

"Just as long as you don't try any of them on me. I hope I can trust you two to respect a lady's privacy?"

"I'm fine," Gambit assured. "It's Steed you have to watch out for. That whole 'gentleman' persona's just a front, you know."

"I thought that was common knowledge," Steed said distractedly, already tracing paths on the paper. "Mrs. Gale would have made that fact known, I'm sure. But then Gambit's a fine one to talk. No one has any privacy at sea; giving it is almost out of the question."

"Well, keep your eyes on each other, or the plans, not me," Purdey ordered. "That's all I ask."

Gambit gave her an elaborate salute. "Aye, aye, cap'n."

Purdey laughed in spite of herself before disappearing behind the beaded curtain. He saw her open up a drawer and extract a pair of stockings. Gambit lowered his eyes to the plans and did his level best to think about England for the next fifteen minutes.


	12. Water, Water, Everywhere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, John Steed, and Thomas McKay. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended
> 
> Timeline: First in a series. Takes place in late December, 1975, a full four months before the start of the series in April, 1976. It is strongly recommended that you go back and read the previous story in the arc, Lost Boys. Those interested in the rest of the series are, of course, invited to read the subsequent stories in the arc.
> 
> For more information about the series, please see my profile.
> 
> \-------------------------------------------------------

When Purdey arrived at Wollerton's office, Doris Westbrook's desk was unoccupied, though there was every sign that the woman herself had been there recently. The steaming cup of tea was the first clue, reinforced by the coat hung on the peg by the woman's desk. Purdey shrugged off her own topcoat and draped it over the back of her chair, musing for the last time how she really deserved a peg of her own. It didn't really matter now—today would be her last day, for one reason or another, but Purdey felt this was an suffered by secretaries nationwide, and felt indignant on their behalf. She settled down in her seat and looked for something to do, so Doris wouldn't accuse her of wasting company time again. She'd barely had a chance to survey her desktop before Wollerton's office door opened, and the woman herself stepped out, still in conversation with the occupant of the room.

"Yes, Mr. Wollerton. I'll return those files to the secure office right away," she was saying, and Purdey pricked up her ears. If she meant the files that had been missing on their midnight break-in, this was Purdey's opportunity to get her hands on them, even if she had to wait for them to be returned to their rightful place first. "And I'll have that memo circulated before lunchtime," Doris went on. She turned to look out into the office for the first time, and noticed Purdey. "Oh! Miss Bryde. I didn't hear you come in."

"I'm sorry, Miss Westbrook. I didn't know where to find you," Purdey said as sweetly as possible, glad that she wouldn't have to pander to this woman much longer. But Doris hardly seemed to hear her. Her demeanour was that of someone distracted and preoccupied. She dismissed Purdey with a wave of her hand.

"Yes, well, we haven't much for you today. You may have the afternoon off, so if you could finish what you have by lunch?"

Purdey blinked in surprise. "I can leave at noon?" she repeated. "Surely you must have something you need me for after all the business conducted last night?"

"Yes. Last night," Doris reflected, mouth twisting slightly. "There were a few…unexpected developments." Purdey felt herself freeze, remembering the dead man they'd left behind. She wondered if Doris suspected her, but as it was the woman was hardly paying her any attention at all, and she didn't seem to be testing her. All the same, Purdey made an extra effort to look disingenuous.

"If there are problems, perhaps I can help..." she offered, but Doris waved her away again.

"It's very admirable for you to offer, Miss Bryde, but we have things well in hand. Finish by noon. That will do nicely. Now, if you'll excuse me." Doris bustled out the door on some errand unknown, leaving Purdey to ponder her good fortune. An afternoon off meant she could get in on the planning with Steed and Gambit. She felt a smile cross her features and leaned back luxuriously in her chair, swinging it lazily from side to side as she pondered the prospect. It was then that she noticed something else on Doris' desktop, next to the tea cup. It was the keyring. Purdey fixed her gaze on it, considered the possibilities. If she was going to be leaving at noon anyway, that left time for a detour…

Purdey opened her flat door and nearly tripped over a stack of papers sitting in front of it. She edged through the opening as best she could and closed the door behind her, took in the disaster area that had once been her flat. Steed and Gambit had only been there a few hours, but had settled in and made themselves at home remarkably well. The empty coffee cups were a testament to their rapidly-born familiarity, as was the relocated phone transferred from the side table to the couch, and the coat draped over the back of the armchair. She recognized it as Gambit's, but she was less interested in it than in what was farther down. Every spare corner of floor space was covered with copies of the blueprints, plans of Wollerton's grounds, and speculative diagrams of the machine, complete with suggested methods of tackling its destruction. The plans had all been drawn on, with scribbled notes in two types of script. Purdey cocked her head and tried to read the writing, and determine which set belonged to whom. She soon identified a friendly but untidy scrawl that seemed, somehow, to reflect Gambit. She didn't know if handwriting really could reflect personality, but in his case it seemed to be accurate. She smiled to herself and started to pick her way through the maze of pages to the living room.

Steed had installed himself on the couch, but Gambit had chosen to stretch out on the floor on his stomach, where he was industriously sketching away. A quick glance toward the beaded curtains told Purdey that the almost non-existent barrier hadn't been violated—none of the pages so much as approached her bedroom. She somehow felt better about that, about the idea that she could leave both Gambit and Steed here unsupervised and trust them not to violate her privacy, even if the same couldn't be said for her fridge. A quick glance into the interior revealed that she would need to visit the grocer's once this assignment was finished.

"Well, I see you two have been busy," she observed, crossing her arms, but not in anger. "Are you having an art break, or did someone open a window and forget to put down a paperweight?"

Steed glanced up from the plans he was studying. "I'm extremely sorry for the mess, Miss Bryde—Purdey-but we've been strategizing. And not always agreeing on the plan of attack, I'm afraid."

"That meant two sets of plans, one for each of us," Gambit chipped in. "And, er, they go on a bit."

"So I see."

Gambit frowned. "Aren't you supposed to be at work? Manning a desk somewhere?"

"Oh, yes. I was about to tell you. I've been given the afternoon off."

It was Steed's turn to frown. "Why?" he demanded.

Purdey shrugged. "I don't think it has anything to do with me, per se. They seem a bit preoccupied. I think they're mustering their resources for…something. Something happening soon. Either way, I've been dismissed for today, and I suspect I won't be called in tomorrow, either."

"I see." Steed didn't look happy with the news. "In that case, the sooner we can tackle Wollerton's manor, the better. I've a feeling we haven't a moment to lose."

"That's what I thought. But I'd like to pay one last trip to the office before we do. I heard Miss Westbrook say something about returning files to the secure file room. They may be the ones that were missing when we broke in. If they are, they might tell us more about what they're planning. And I managed to borrow Miss Westbrook's keyring, so breaking in won't prove a problem. She won't notice, I don't think. Not for the moment. But she watched me leave, so I couldn't go on my way out, but there's nothing to stop me going back when she's not watching." Purdey paused, eyes dancing. She wanted to tell them about her other discovery, but there was something about keeping it to herself just a moment longer that made her hold back.

"I know that look," Gambit said from the floor. "What have you been doing, Miss Bryde?"

"A little investigating of my own," Purdey revealed. "I couldn't go to the file room, but I did manage to pay another visit to the basement. And this time I didn't stand in front of the door."

Steed straightened up with interest. "What did you find?"

"Just what you suspected. Another of those machines. But it's smaller, and from the looks of things is remotely controlled by the one in Wollerton's house." She dug in her pocket and extracted a miniature camera, handed it to Steed. "I took the liberty of requesting one of those from stores for myself last night, since I couldn't sleep." She hurried on before anyone could mention the reason for her insomnia. The sight of the corpse was still too fresh in her mind. "It arrived by courier at an inhuman hour this morning. I took as many pictures as I could."

"Good girl," Steed praised, eyeing the camera happily, before pocketing it. "I'll have these developed while you go back for the files." He nodded at Gambit. "I'll be at the Ministry. Bring them there. Take Mike with you."

Purdey pulled a face. "I'm perfectly capable of going back on my own," she protested.

"I'm sure you are," Steed assured. "But all the same, I think you ought to have back-up. Just in case. Something tells me Wollerton and Miss Westbrook didn't want you out of the way just to pass the time."

"Oh, all right," Purdey muttered, even as Gambit sprang up like an energetic jack-in-the-box and moved to collect his leather jacket. "If I must. But I really am capable."

"Don't look like that," Gambit told her cheerfully. "It'll give us another chance to bond. Right, Steed?"

"I've no idea what you mean," Steed said innocently, and Gambit snorted.

"He lies better to the enemy," he told Purdey, picking his way back over the pages and opening the door for her. He knocked over a precariously balanced stack of papers in the process, and grinned.

"It's all right," he told her. "Those were Steed's."

Purdey raised an eyebrow and looked at Steed, who simply smiled wryly. She shook her head and went out the door. She wasn't going to get in the middle of whatever was going on between the pair of them. She had more than enough to deal with as it was.

Purdey got past the front desk on the pretext of having forgotten something in the office, and ensured that they got the entirely wrong idea about Gambit and why he was tagging along behind her. As she had correctly assumed, news of "Commander Gamble's" interest in the temporary staff had spread, and Purdey had to bite back the urge to clout the man at the desk behind the ear when he smirked suggestively at the pair of them. Gambit, on the other hand, seemed to find the whole situation terribly amusing, and wore a smirk of his own on the lift ride up.

It was short-lived, however. The instant they stepped out onto the correct floor, Gambit was all business, striding to the file room door and waiting expectantly for Purdey to produce the key. "Let's make this quick," he told her, eyes darting up and down the corridor. "I have a feeling Steed's right—they're mobilizing. If they catch us, we may not come out again."

Purdey followed his eyes, dug in her pocket for the keyring, handed it to him so she could keep watch. Gambit picked through the ring, looking for the one that would fit. Halfway through he paused, body tensing. Purdey frowned.

"What is it?" she asked, feeling a sense of foreboding bubble up in her stomach.

Gambit didn't answer, simply knelt in front of the keyhole, felt something sting his nostrils. It didn't take long to identify. "Smoke," he informed to Purdey, who was still keeping watch. "Wollerton, or one of his minions, left something burning."

Purdey looked alarmed. "You don't think he'd burn down the building to cover his tracks?"

"Wouldn't surprise me," Gambit muttered. "Either way, we'll be in trouble if I can't get this door open." He slipped a promising-looking key into the lock, heard a familiar click, and struck the area below the knob with the heel of his hand. The mechanism sprang back and the door creaked open. Casting a quick glance to make sure Purdey was following, Gambit made his way into the office, immediately spotting the location of the burn. A wastepaper basket was smoking madly, a book sat on top to prevent all the smoke escaping. Gambit hurried over and snatched up the tome before tipping the whole lot over. The metal was hot from the flames and singed his fingers, and Gambit swore under his breath, as much from the heat as the ashes scattered over the floor. "He's burned the lot," he muttered angrily, as Purdey knelt to sift through the charred remains. A piece of file folder met her eyes, and she held it up to the light.

"This is only the first half," she announced to Gambit, and he whirled on her in surprise.

"What?"

"This file. See the little mark in the corner? I've seen enough of Wollerton's filing system to last a lifetime. This means there are two parts. Looking at it, there's only enough here for the first half. That means the rest is still probably locked up in the cabinet." She uncovered a few pages from beneath the ashes, lifting them delicately. "And these aren't too far gone. You stopped the fire before it took it all. If we empty the cabinet and bring these along, they might be able to salvage something at the Ministry." She turned her eyes up to Gambit, smiled that mad, glorious smile. "We're not beaten yet, Mike Gambit."

Gambit grinned back. "I'll take the cabinet," he told her. "You sweep up the rest of the bits, find anything that looks remotely like it might be readable."

Purdey nodded, bending to sift through the remains. Meanwhile, the still smoking scraps inside the wastepaper basket sent their stench up toward the ceiling, and the sensors it contained.

Gambit had succeeded in opening the cabinet, retrieving the stack of files from within, and setting them on Wollerton's desk. Purdey, meanwhile, was scraping her findings into a fragile pile. They were looking for something to carry the files out in, when a shrill ring reached their ears: the fire alarm.

Gambit and Purdey exchanged panicked glances, but the noise was nothing compared to what followed mere seconds later. The emergency sprinkler system, determined to save the building, switched on, sending a torrent of water onto the pair of agents and their precious cargo.

"You must be joking," Purdey said darkly, turning to Gambit. "That was why he left the book on."

"I'd come to that conclusion all on my own," Gambit muttered, cursing himself for not considering the smoke alarms. "Quick, get everything out before it's soaked." The water was already seeping through his clothes as he madly snatched up the folders and tried to tuck them beneath the shelter of his jacket. Purdey rescued her envelope before doing the same, her blonde hair hanging down in sodden clumps over her eyes.

"That's only a temporary solution," she pointed out. "We need something to carry them out in. Otherwise they'll never make it to the car."

They glanced around frantically, water coursing over both of them in thin rivulets, soaking them to the bone. Purdey, despite her panic, couldn't help but notice how one of Gambit's curls had come loose to fall endearingly over his forehead, nor the way his clothes clung to the slim physique.

"Take the whole bloody drawer!" Gambit strode over and yanked out the metal drawer from its berth in the cabinet. "We can use this. Find something to put over top."

Purdey snatched up the book that had been used to cover the wastepaper backet. "Will this do?"

"It'll have to," Gambit replied, already loading the files in while using his body to shield them from the storm. Purdey covered the top up, and Gambit hefted the lot, grimacing as he did so. "They've already taken on some water."

"Can you manage?"

"Yeah, yeah. But we've got to go. Now. The fire department will be here soon, and I'd just as soon not answer any questions."

"Here." Purdey reached out and grabbed hold of one of the sides. "We'll carry it between us. Don't argue. If you drop it we'll be in worse shape than ever."

Gambit didn't say a word, just let Purdey take some of the burden, and started off down the hall.

If there were any worries about being questioned by the other employees, they were banished quickly. Everyone was too busy fleeing the water to pay any attention to Purdey, Gambit, and their cargo as they hurried along the slick tiles, slipping and sliding all the way. Purdey's heels didn't have much in the way of grip, and she finally got Gambit to stop while she removed them, tucking them under her arm before starting off again. After that they made better time, dashing down the stairs and out into the parking lot, where Mike's Jag crouched behind a cluster of sodden employees and curious onlookers. They heaved their cargo into the trunk before climbing inside. Gambit eyed the seats ruefully, watching as both Purdey and he dripped all over the interior. "There goes the resale value," he muttered, putting the car into gear.

"Never mind the seats, put the heat on," Purdey chattered, reaching out to turn the knob that switched on the heater. "A shower in December. Lovely."

"Don't get too comfortable," Gambit warned. "We're only five minutes from the Ministry, and then we'll be back outside again." He watched her gooseflesh rise, and felt guilty. "Sorry about that," he murmured after a moment. "If I hadn't taken the book off—"

"The smoke would have escaped anyway, and we wouldn't have salvaged any of that file at all," Purdey said practically. "It wasn't your fault. And anyway, it's part of the job, isn't it?" She grinned at him again, and he felt his own lips stretch automatically.

"You're quite the girl, Purdey Bryde," he said affectionately.

"I do try," she replied lightheartedly, snuggling closer to the heating vents. Gambit shook his head, and turned back to the road.

Purdey offered to carry some of the sodden files herself, despite Gambit's protests that she should stay in the warmth of the car. When they were both by the open trunk, Gambit offered her his brown leather jacket.

"I know it's wet, so it's not going to do warm you up much, but…" He raised an eyebrow meaningfully. "Well, the water's left you a bit…exposed."

Purdey frowned and glanced down, only to realise that the water had rendered her blouse almost completely transparent, and that the cold was causing certain biological reactions in her chest area. She accepted the offered jacket hurriedly, snatching it from Gambit's hand while the man himself pointedly looked the other way. Once it was swirled around her shoulders, she felt much less exposed. She didn't even have to do it up, the two halves draping over the pertinent areas. She looked up and smiled fondly at Gambit's turned head, surprised and oddly attracted to unwillingness to horn in on the advantage, even if he'd gotten a look in the process of warning her.

"Everything shipshape?" he queried.

"Aye, aye," she acknowledged, and threw him a cocky salute when he was looking her way again. "Everything's back in uniform."

Gambit smiled ruefully as he bent to retrieve the files. "Just as well. We're going to give the backroom boys a show as it is. They don't need a bonus on top of it all."

Purdey scraped back her hair and hefted the rest of the sodden papers. "Duty calls."

John Steed was at his desk, glancing impatiently at the clock every five minutes. Purdey and Gambit were due for reporting by now, and he was beginning to wonder if something had gone wrong at Wollerton's. The man himself was most definitely out of town—he'd checked-but there was always the chance that he'd left a nasty surprise in his wake.

"Hullo, Steed." Steed was jerked from his worries by the light-haired agent that had wandered in. "How's tricks?"

"Hello, Terry," he told the younger man. Terry was one of the younger agents, from Gambit's class if Steed recalled correctly. A cheery sort that Steed made use of semi-regularly, he was currently investigating some very vague rumours that a double was in their midst. Vague, but Steed knew better than to discount idle whisperings, no matter how quiet. "I'm waiting for Gambit and Miss Bryde. I sent them on a simple retrieval, and they haven't checked in."

"Gambit and the new girl?" Terry arched an eyebrow. "I can think of one reason why they might be delayed…"

Steed smirked. "Miss Bryde's put up a fight. I doubt Gambit's managed to win her over that easily."

Terry shook his head. "Oh, I wouldn't write old Mike out just yet. Persistent bugger at the best of times, and I've seen Purdey Bryde. She might as well have 'best of times' written on her jacket."

Steed chuckled a little. "Regardless, I wish they'd call in."

Terry frowned, and cocked his head. "D'you hear something?"

Steed's ears perked up. "What?"

"Dunno. Sounds like a…squelching." Terry looked bemused, and Steed could relate. It did sound like squelching, but what…?

It was at that moment that Purdey and Gambit appeared, bedraggled and sour-looking, clothes clinging damply to their bodies. Purdey's mascara had run and smudged, and Gambit's curls were drooping onto his forehead. Their shoes squelched loudly with each step. They were both laden with a stack of equally waterlogged files. The two young agents set their burden on Steed's desk with a satisfying "splat."

"Before you ask," Gambit said tiredly before either Steed or Terry recovered their wits and asked the inevitable question that had been hollered cheekily from any number of doorways on their way to Steed's. "No, it wasn't a swimming pool."

"Or a fountain," Purdey chimed in, tucking a loose strand of damp blonde hair behind her ear.

"And we didn't hit a fire hydrant."

"And it was certainly nothing like that waterbed scenario Collins mentioned," Purdey bristled indignantly. "Some people's imaginations! I don't even own a waterbed."

"Neither of us do," Gambit reminded, letting a little water dribble out of his sleeve onto the carpet. "They don't fold into sofas without springing leaks."

"True," Purdey agreed.

Steed waited for the conversation to continue, but Purdey and Gambit seemed more interested in dribbling on his carpet. "Well?" he said expectantly. "If I'm not meant to ask, that rather limits my options."

"Oh." Gambit looked up from his sodden boots. "Right. Wollerton lit up the files, and, well…the sprinkler system's in perfect working order."

"I see." Steed reached out and peeled a sodden sheet from where it was plastered on top of a file. "Did you manage to salvage any of what was burnt?"

"Some," Purdey informed, separating the envelope from the damp mass. "But as I told Gambit, only half of the file was destroyed. The other half should be in here somewhere." She tapped the pile and then thought better of it when her nail went clean through the moist paper.

"The stuff on the top got the worst of it," Gambit pointed out. "We did our best, and the backroom boys should do all right with a couple of hairdryers."

Steed sighed. "I'll make the call. I would have preferred them mildew free, but one can't have everything. I think we can take it as a given that Wollerton's moved on to the next phase of his plan." He paused, and frowned. Gambit and Terry were both enthralled with Purdey, who had gathered up the hem of her skirt in her hands and was busy wringing it out. Onto his carpet. Steed followed Gambit's eyeline and noticed that the younger man was particularly interested in the stocking top just visible, a suspender holding it to a milky thigh. Terry seemed equally fascinated.

"Gambit, are you listening?" Steed said pointedly

"Wot?" Gambit's head snapped up, but not fast enough that Purdey didn't catch his eye and hold it for a fraction of a second before letting her skirt drop back into place. Gambit turned to Steed quickly, looking slightly disconcerted. "Sorry, what was that?"

"Wollerton's on the move," Steed repeated impatiently. "We've had reports. That means we're on a deadline. We can't afford to leave that machine intact any longer. The Ministry boffins think they know the self-destruct sequence based on our photographs. These will help us confirm that the sequence is correct. McKay wants us to get inside and initiate it, and, in turn, I want you two dried out and back here in an hour." He frowned at the damp spots on the carpet. "Sooner rather than later."

"Sorry," Gambit said again, looking apologetic. "But you did want these right away."

"Yes, and I'm grateful for the prompt service. Just as I'll be grateful when you've found yourself a towel." He stood and shooed them out the door. "As much as I hate to put you through the walk of shame once more."

"Don't worry about that, Mike. You know they're all wet," Terry quipped, wicked grin stretching his lips.

Gambit smiled sarcastically. "Remind me of how funny you are during our next sparring match. I can always use a little extra motivation."

"I'd say you've got all the motivation you need right here," Terry replied, looking meaningfully at Purdey.

"Gambit loaned me his jacket," Purdey pointed out, pulling it tighter over his shoulders. "Which means he has more than one motivator."

"He's not the only one," Terry informed, waggling his eyebrows, and Purdey smiled in spite of herself. She liked Terry. He was a good-humoured sort, and they needed as many of those they could get in their business.

"I'll bear that in mind," she told him, before turning to Gambit. "Let's go. I'm freezing."

After they were gone, Terry glanced knowingly at Steed. "Wouldn't write him out at all," he murmured, before leaving the senior agent to tend to a mop-up operation in every sense of the word.

As Gambit drove Purdey to her flat, his mind flicked back to their time in Steed's office, recalling something from the recent conversation.

"What happened to the 'Mr.'?" he queried, and elaborated when Purdey raised a questioning eyebrow. "You called me 'Gambit' back there. No honourific. Any chance of a 'Mike' in the near future?"

Purdey snorted. "It wasn't meant to be revolutionary. I was so uncomfortable standing there dripping all over the place, I expect I forgot about it. And anyway, I suppose once you've tried to preserve a lady's modesty, it sort of forces a little familiarity. Even if you take an interest in other, lower areas later on."

Gambit felt himself blush ever-so-slightly, which wasn't like him at all. "Well, I did notice…"

"So you did," Purdey said lightly, with a trace of humour in her voice. She looked a little pleased with herself, and Gambit wondered how innocent the gesture had been, and what she had hoped to derive from it. She really was odd, but it was becoming more intriguing all the time. Maybe there's some hope for you after all, Mike.

They pulled up to Purdey's flat, and she moved to take off the jacket before getting out of the car. Gambit stayed her hand before he knew what he was doing. "Hang onto it," he told her. "You can give it back later. No need for you to walk down there totally exposed. It's cold out."

"I noticed," Purdey said flatly, one side of her mouth quirking up. She pulled the two halves of the garment together over her chest. "Thank you." She reached over and opened the car door, was half way out when she glanced over her shoulder and added one word, deliberately this time. "Mike."

Then she was off and down the steps before Gambit could respond. He was left in his car, still cold and soaked, but grinning like a madman. He let his head lean back onto the headrest and savoured this small sign of hope. Just maybe.

Across the street, Mrs. Peabody frowned and made a note of the young man. She had a sneaking suspicion she would be seeing a lot more of him.

Purdey changed out of her soaking clothes and took a long hot shower to take the chill out of her bones. Once she'd filled the bathroom with a fine cloud of steam, she got out, dried herself, and put on a pair of black trousers and matching pullover, and finished with high heeled boots on the assumption that the dark colour would be useful for skulking. She looked at her hair in the mirror and decided against pinning it back. Every time she did, it only seemed to loosen itself again, and it was always in her face. Maybe when everything was finished she'd treat herself to a haircut, but there wasn't time for that now. She tossed it over her shoulder and set out to meet Steed and Gambit.

After all the drawings and strategies that had decorated her flat that morning, she was expecting a convoluted plan for tackling Wollerton's estate, complete with skydiving and mountain-climbing equipment. Instead, she was rather disappointed to discover that they were going to be smuggled in on approach via a truck delivering a rather suspiciously large order of foodstuffs, and would sneak through the grounds on their own to enter via a side door. The Ministry suspected that Wollerton's security arrangements were such that he would notice an unwanted car approaching his property, let alone a plane or any other flying vehicle, so it had been decided that it was better to keep things small and simple. They would go in on their own and try to disable the machine. If they failed, desperate measures would be taken. It was made very clear that they it would be better for everyone if they didn't fail. Especially them. No pressure, Purdey thought wryly, as she climbed into the back of a lorry stocked to the limit with foodstuffs and wondered when the job started getting a little more glamourous. Steed settled himself onto a milk crate, while Gambit opted for a box of apples. Purdey made herself a bed in among the bags of grain and tried to catch up on some of the sleep she'd forgone the night before after the party.

They only hitched a ride, made possible by greasing the palm of the lorry driver, as far as the outskirts of Wollerton's estate, before disembarking and taking a round about route through some woods near the rear of the property, taking care to avoid the patrols, and eventually sneaking in through a side door. It took them back to the corridor that led to the ballroom, and then onto the stairs that would take them into the basement. Purdey crept quietly behind her two colleagues as they went, looking over her shoulder the entire time, mindful of an ambush. The house was too quiet considering the activity it had supposedly been blessed with earlier in the day, and she had a terrible feeling that it was the calm before the storm. She noticed Gambit and Steed had gotten ahead of her and she hurried to catch up.

It was only when they were in the basement that Steed outlined what little plan there was: "Get in, input a self-destruct sequence, get out again. Hopefully without incident." He flashed them a smile. "Perhaps not much in the way of imagination, but elegant in its simplicity."

Purdey smirked. "Simple? It's more a case of 'easier said than done.' Looks very nice on paper, but seems less cheery when you're in the belly of the beast."

"Which we most definitely are," Gambit chipped in, glancing furtively around at the corridor of cells. "Let's not hang about."

"Agreed." Steed set off down the corridor, with Purdey and Gambit close behind. They encountered the fork in the road, and Steed indicated for the other two to give it a quick look to see if anyone was likely to come down it and disturb them. They left silently, and Steed made for the control room, where their target lay. He almost reached it, too, when a voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Well, well. Major Equus. If you wanted a return invitation, you need only have asked…"

"All clear at this end," Gambit murmured to Purdey as they headed back the way they had come. "Why doesn't that make me feel better?"

Purdey bit her lip. "Because it doesn't sound right? Because there ought to be someone on patrol, and if they're not here, then they're-"

"There!" Gambit and Purdey ducked out of sight before one of the three guards holding Steed at gunpoint saw them. Doris Westbrook spoke quietly to the senior agent, who had been relieved of both bowler and umbrella. She indicated for the men to escort him to a cell, and Steed, clearly annoyed, but unable to do much to stop it from happening, complied. Purdey felt her eyes widen with alarm, and moved to assist. He was her colleague—her boss. John Steed! She couldn't stand by and watch him be taken hostage. She had to do something! She took a step out into the open, meaning to spring on them while she still had the element of surprise.

"No!" Gambit hissed, grabbing Purdey's shoulder and pulling her back before she could break her cover behind the wall. He held onto her arm, even as she peered around the corner to watch Steed's retreating form, followed by the three guards who had captured him. She looked up at Gambit, but he was watching Steed, too, expression grim and jaw tight. His grip wasn't too tight, but firm enough to discourage any further movement. Only when the little group turned a corner and disappeared from view did he release her with a sigh. She wheeled around to glare up at him with accusatory eyes.

"Why did you hold me back?" she hissed angrily. "We just let them take Steed!"

"Yes, I noticed," Gambit snapped back, but his eyes were distracted. His jaw worked anxiously.

"Well, then, why didn't we stop them? If we'd gone out there—"

"If we'd gone out there, we'd have a pair of bullets in our skulls and would now be making a mess of the floor," Gambit cut in, reaching under his arm for his shoulder holster and the gun within. "They were all armed, Miss Bryde. I'm the only one with a gun."

"Purdey," Purdey snapped automatically. "And don't tell me couldn't have jumped them?"

"Two against three?"

"Three on three. Steed's on our side, remember?" She crossed her arms angrily. "Although sometimes I think you forget that."

Gambit ignored the comment. "Three on three isn't equivalent when only one side has the armoury. We're not going to do Steed or anyone else much good if one or all of us end up shot."

Purdey opened her mouth to reply, but found she didn't have a smart reply for that. Instead, she said, "Well, what are we going to do, then? We're not going to leave Steed to his fate, are we?"

"Of course not. He has the self-destruct codes," Gambit reminded, then elaborated when Purdey scowled up at him. "And, of course, we don't want anything to happen to him. I'm joking, Purdey." He shook his head and checked the chamber of his Smith and Wesson. "We'll get Steed out, but I don't think he's in any immediate danger. They're only planning on locking him up so he can't get in the way. I don't think they're planning on torture."

"You don't know that," Purdey countered. "And even if they aren't, isn't locking him up bad enough?"

"If you say so." Gambit spun the chamber and snapped it back into place. "The guard room's probably the best place to look for a key. Find a way to get as many of them out of there as possible, then take out the rest. Get the key, get Steed out."

"Okay." Purdey was looking more animated now, with the prospect of rescuing Steed looming before her. Gambit suppressed a shudder of jealousy and tried to remind himself that he didn't have any more claim on her than anyone else. Just because he thought they fit somewhere deep down in his soul didn't mean she did. "What's our plan of attack?"

"One, establish how many of them there are. Then try to draw some of them out. Make some noise, knock out anyone who comes out. If some of them are stubborn and won't come, we may have to launch a frontal attack, and hope either my trigger finger or your reflexes are better than theirs."

Purdey cocked her head to one side. "That's a bit risky, isn't it?"

"Yeah, well, we don't have time for the safe route. Don't worry about it. You don't have a gun, so there's really no reason for you to stick your neck out. If I have to go in, you hang back, try and get away if I don't make it."

Purdey frowned. "You expect me to stand by and let you walk in and get yourself shot full of holes?"

"Better me than you," Gambit said mildly. "Purdey, you've got to understand. You're not even a full agent. You're not meant to be out here. The only reason you are is because you've got Steed and me to watch out for you, and right now it's all down to me. I'm not going to let you die on my watch." He locked eyes with her, tried to make her see. "I can't have your blood on my hands."

The frown deepened to a scowl as Purdey's face contorted angrily. "My blood? That's your excuse? Mike Gambit, I've been trained every bit as much as every single one of the agents out in the field right now. I know the risks. I've accepted them, and I intend to face them. If this is because I'm a woman—"

"No," Gambit said firmly. "No, Purdey, it's nothing to do with that. It's just—you're not ready. You have the training, but not the experience. I can't let you walk into a situation you're not prepared for."

"I'm never going to get experience if I don't get the chance, am I?"

He looked at her, her blue eyes wide and outraged, her blonde hair spilling untidily over her shoulders. Her lips were slightly parted, and her shoulders heaved with pent-up emotion. He looked at all of her, and loved it. Loved the stubborn jut of her chin, loved the hair that wouldn't stay out of her eyes, loved her defiance, her ability to look a challenge in the eye and not back away. Loved her loyalty, her perseverance, her energy, her incurable buoyancy, and her naiveté. Loved her past, known and unknown, her joy and her sorrow. He loved it all, wanted it, needed it.

He wanted to kiss her, more than he ever had another woman in his life. Wanted to tangle his fingers in the blonde hair. Wanted to smell her skin, and feel the warmth of her form against his. He wanted to know everything about her, every detail, every secret, every mystery. Wanted to know why she made him feel whole and alive and hopeful for the first time in years.

Wanted to know why she was so perfect.

Somewhere, deep inside, a little bit of Mike Gambit that had died one cold November day had flamed back to life when she'd walked into Steed's office. And he thanked her for it.

She was looking at him, completely oblivious to the effect she was having, and somehow that made her that much more appealing. All the same, Gambit wished she could understand, could know what she was doing to him, and why it would be so horrible if she died due to his negligence.

"I can't lose you." That was what he wanted to say, but it sounded too intimate, too involved, and they weren't anywhere near there yet. For all Gambit knew he was deluding himself, creating a saviour in the shape of a beautiful woman who just might be his soulmate. He doubted it, but heaven knew it wasn't the time to find out. So instead he said, "I can't let you die." He couldn't keep the pleading note out of his voice, and in the end he was glad for it, because it seemed to reach her. Her eyes cleared, and the tension drained from her shoulders. She seemed to understand, finally, what she was asking him to do, and what the consequences could be. The hand she rested on his forearm was gentle and reassuring.

"I'm not going to die," she said with conviction, but softly this time. "I promise you. Let me prove it. Trust me, the way you did here last night."

Gambit locked eyes with her. "I do trust you," he said seriously. "I do."

"Then you have nothing to worry about. I'm more capable than you think."

The side of Gambit's mouth quirked up a little. "I already think you're plenty capable, Purdey Bryde."

She smiled at the complement. "Why thank you," she murmured back, "but all the same, I think I have one or two tricks up my sleeve. I'm hoping to surprise you yet."

"I'm sure you are. I'm looking forward to it." The quirk turned into a full-fledged smile and he sighed and shook his head. "But try to be surprising while keeping out of the line of fire, okay?"

Purdey's eyes lit up excitedly. "Then I'm coming?" she asked breathlessly. "All the way?"

"All the way," Gambit confirmed.

Purdey squealed happily and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tight. Gambit staggered back a step, both at the force with which she'd thrown herself at him, and in surprise. He reached his non-gun hand around to hug her back, resting the palm gently against her spine, but not enveloping her, not holding her the way he wanted to. With her head tucked under his chin he could smell her hair and her scent. For a moment, all was right with the world.

She released him all-too-soon, bright eyes looking up at him eagerly. "We had better get going," she pointed out. "Steed's waiting. We can't keep Steed waiting."

"No, I don't suppose we can," Gambit said with half a sigh. For a moment there, she'd been all his. Now Steed was back in the picture. "Come on. He'll be in a mood if we don't hurry up, and I'm not placating him."


	13. The Rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, John Steed, and Thomas McKay. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended
> 
> Timeline: First in a series. Takes place in late December, 1975, a full four months before the start of the series in April, 1976. It is strongly recommended that you go back and read the previous story in the arc, Lost Boys. Those interested in the rest of the series are, of course, invited to read the subsequent stories in the arc.
> 
> For more information about the series, please see my profile.
> 
> \---------------------------------------------------------

In the guard room, four of Wollerton's men passed the time, idly flicking playing cards into Steed's bowler hat, which sat like a strange centerpiece in the middle of the table in small room. The hat's owner had been safely secured, and there was little left for them to do until the next patrol. They sat in silence, the grueling hours of the past weeks weighing heavily on them. The boss had been even more demanding than usual as zero hour approached. At this late stage, it took everything they had to simply try and stay awake. And yet, even in their drowsy state, they all heard the footstep.

It was just the one, with no accompanying mate, which made it even odder, and somehow easier to hear. The guards exchanged inquiring glances, silently confirming that their ears weren't playing tricks. But all seemed to be in agreement, and there was no question as to what to do next. As one, three of the men rose from their seats and started for the door, the fourth staying put, back-up in case things went wrong. In the group of three, the lead man drew his gun. Not all of Wollerton's men were armed—it wasn't considered necessary when there was something much, much more powerful in the next room. All the same, some of Wollerton's men insisted on a good old-fashioned weapon—they knew where they stood with a firearm.

They trooped silently out the door, eyes and ears open, two turning left down the corridor, the remaining drifting off to the right. The leading man of the pair approached the bend at the end of the corridor with apprehension, gun at the ready. Despite his cautious approach, he wasn't prepared for the booted foot that shot up with no warning and sent the gun in his hand sailing away…

Gambit felt his jaw drop as one of Purdey's long legs kicked upwards again, catching her opponent under the chin and sending him tumbling backwards to hit the wall, hard. He recovered, but only in time for Purdey's toe to crack his jaw, then her knee to drive into his solar plexus. He went down, and the guard behind him rushed forward to engage her in his stead. While Gambit watched, Purdey simply turned, glanced over her shoulder, and kicked backwards almost casually, catching the other man in the stomach, then twisted around in time to land a solid punch to his chin. He went down as well, and Purdey finished with a little pirouette for Gambit's benefit. She took in his priceless gobsmacked expression with pleasure.

"I did tell you I could handle myself," she reminded, brushing an errant lock of blonde hair from her eyes.

"You didn't say you could do that," Gambit pointed out, looking her legs over with undisguised admiration. "Your foot went all the way up to, well, there." He raised a hand to his nose. "How the hell do you do that?"

"Training," she said simply. "Ballet does wonders for your flexibility." Purdey put her hands on her hips and grinned. "All you have to do is keep your balance and exercise the right muscles, and you end up with…" She stepped in close and kicked high, foot sailing effortlessly up to Gambit's nose, her heel missing it by millimeters. Gambit whistled, impressed. She recovered just as effortlessly, grinned broadly. "If we end up working together long enough, you'll get used to it. Eventually."

"I'm not sure I want to," Gambit murmured appreciatively, one eye still on the limbs he had now classified as lethal weapons. "Decorative and deadly. What more could you ask for?"

"I'm sure if you try very hard, you'll think of something," Purdey said knowingly, and Gambit grinned in a way that suggested he already had. They shared a moment, one which was rudely interrupted when the third guard made his presence felt, hitting Purdey in the back of the neck with his gun. She cried out, more in surprise than pain, and buckled over. Gambit immediately switched into fighting mode, grabbing the man's gun hand before he could even think about firing and slamming it against the wall, once, twice, three times, until it fell from nerveless fingers. Purdey looked up just in time to see him land a series of precise, efficient, professional blows, all those of an expert in the martial arts. His hands moved in a blur of speed, and Purdey soon lost track of where he made contact. All she knew was that, suddenly, as quickly as he'd started, Gambit stopped, and stood with almost uncanny stillness as he watched his opponent sink quietly to the ground. Purdey arched an eyebrow, and treated him to a round of applause.

"You really must teach me how to do that."

"Which part?" Gambit wanted to know, grinning at the adulation, however brief.

"All of it."

"Well, I suppose I could give you some karate lessons. If you don't mind getting on a mat with me and letting yourself in for some compromising positions."

"As long as some of them are actually related to karate, I think I can manage," Purdey said knowingly. She turned as one of her men groaned, moved to finish him. Gambit hurried over and stopped her before she could put her boot to work again.

"I can teach you something now," he told her, and dropped into a crouch. Purdey followed, watched as Gambit pressed two fingers into the back of the man's neck.

"It's the nerve nexus," Gambit explained, as the man sank into unconsciousness. "Just a little pressure at the right point." He let go and the man slumped to the side. He looked at Purdey. "If you're willing to help me with my kicks once in awhile, I'll teach you all the little tricks."

"Not all," Purdey said with a smile. "I plan on retaining an air of mystery in my life."

"Good. I like a challenge," Gambit said with a wink. "But one thing at a time. Come on. Let's get that key."

The fourth guard had, by now, heard the commotion, and was waiting for Gambit and Purdey in the guard room, gun in hand. He saw the flash of blonde hair through the doorway first, and fired at it, but it ducked away in time. It was while he was looking for it to make a reappearance that Gambit's arm snaked around the doorframe, loosing off a shot that landed close enough to the guard's hand that he dropped the gun instinctively. It clattered onto the tabletop. As Purdey charged in with her colleague close behind, he scrabbled for the fallen weapon, but a second shot from Gambit that sent wood splinters up from the table top into his hand cut that plan short. Gambit kept his gun pointed at the guard as he raised his hands, then nodded at Purdey to go for the keyring hanging on the wall. "Which one's Steed's?" he demanded of his new prisoner.

"Number five," the guard informed tersely, eyes on the barrel of Gambit's gun. Purdey went and retrieved the key, held it up for Gambit to see.

"Right," Gambit said cheerfully. "Let's liberate good old Steed."

"Gambit." Purdey was frowning now, a thought striking her. "What about the other guards? There must be more than four."

"Yes, but they're probably all on patrol. They're not likely to come back until—"

"Ahem."

Purdey and Gambit whirled around in unison to find four armed men standing in the doorway, all aiming their weapons at them. One held out a hand for the key Purdey was holding. She bit her lip and looked at Gambit.

"-now," Gambit finished grimly, bending to put his gun down on the floor before putting his hands behind his head. "Purdey, there's something you should know about this business..."

"Timing is everything?" Purdey offered, raising her arms to mirror Gambit's position.

"Something like that," Gambit muttered with a sigh, and turned to face their captors.

Gambit staggered as he was shoved roughly into the cell, nearly colliding with Steed, who was sat on the bench furnishing the tiny room, in the process. He recovered just in time to turn around and have Purdey flung headlong into him, striking him bodily against the chest so he fell back a few paces. "Oi!" he yelled at the guard, feeling outrage bubble up in his chest, pushing his essential cockney to surface. "Careful with the lady!"

The guard snorted at his outrage, shook his head. "You're not in a position to be making demands, mate."

Purdey wheeled around and tugged the bottom of her shirt indignantly, hair in disarray. "You're just lucky you have a gun," she snarled, pointing an accusatory finger at their captor, "because otherwise you'd have your back broken in three places."

The guard laughed. "What, skinny little bird like you? Don't make me laugh."

Purdey's eyes flashed dangerously. "Put down the gun and we'll see who laughs last."

"Yeah?"

"Oh yes," Purdey hissed, rolling up her sleeves in anticipation.

"Um, Purdey?" Gambit touched her elbow. "I think we may have overplayed our hand."

Purdey's teeth were clenched. "But he said—"

"I heard what he said, and I'd thump him given the chance," Gambit murmured in her ear, "but he still has a gun, and we're the fish in a very small barrel. So maybe we ought to switch to 'softly, softly.'"

"That's right. You ought to put a muzzle on that one," the guard laughed, indicating Purdey, and the girl took a step forward, only to be restrained by Gambit. The guard closed the door and bolted it, leaving behind a seething Purdey and a relieved Gambit.

"I could have taken him," Purdey asserted, fists clenched almost into immobility. Gambit could feel the anger bubbling up inside her.

"I'll bet you could, but we've got other things to worry about," Gambit murmured absently, turning to Steed, who had stood and moved to join them. He smiled weakly. "Sorry. We were trying to get you out."

"An interesting strategy," Steed said mildly. "I suppose it's too much to hope ending up in here was part of your plan?"

" 'Fraid so," Gambit confessed, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously.

Purdey, having calmed down a little, looked up at Steed repentantly. "Sorry, Steed," she said quietly. "We've let you down, haven't we?"

Steed beamed at her. "Quite the contrary, Miss Bryde. You're being captured may not have been part of your plan, but it was part of mine."

Purdey frowned. "I don't follow."

"Oh, haven't you noticed?" Steed asked conversationally. "There's a loose panel in the ceiling." He pointed above their heads at the cheaply-pannelled ceiling. "It probably leads to an air duct. Now, it's much too narrow for me, or even Gambit, but I suspect you'd fit very nicely."

"She might even get out of the house," Gambit murmured, with dawning realization.

Steed nodded. "And could call in reinforcements."

Gambit was looking much more cheerful about their situation. "Right. Come on, Purdey-girl. You don't suffer from claustrophobia, do you?"

Purdey eyed the panel doubtfully. "I don't think so…" she hazarded.

"Excellent," Steed enthused, taking a seat once more on the bench. "I'm sure Gambit won't mind giving you a hand up?"

"Naturally," Gambit said wryly, eyeing Steed with mild annoyance. "I can see you're busy."

"Good." Steed sat back and stretched luxuriously. "No time like the present, then."

Gambit pursed his lips and looked at Purdey, sighed, then formed a stirrup with his hands and bent to let her step up and into it. Purdey eyed it with mild trepidation.

"All in aid of the job, I suppose?" she said resignedly.

Gambit's eyes were tired. "Isn't it always?"

"Mmm." She put her hands on Gambit's shoulders, placed one high-heeled black boot in his stirrup, then used his shoulders to steady herself as he boosted her upwards. She reached up and shifted the panel, unleashing a shower of dust and small debris in the process that made both her and Gambit cough as it filled their lungs. All the same, she reached up and into the vent, letting Gambit boost her up the rest of the way. She clamoured up into the cramped space-an air duct, as Steed predicted. It was all cold metal and dust, and it made her sneeze.

"You okay, Purdey-girl?" Gambit's voice was laced with concern, and Purdey found herself smiling at both nickname and sentiment.

"I'm fine," she replied, squinting at the way ahead. "I think I can see the way to go. There are two branches, but one of them has a breeze."

"Good." It was Steed's voice. "Mind how you go, and don't stop for anything. We'll be here."

"Hopefully," Gambit put in.

"Don't worry," Purdey assured. "I'll be all right. And I won't let you down."

"I'm sure you won't, Miss Bryde," Steed said warmly. "Good luck."

"Take care of yourself," Gambit added.

"I will." Purdey sighed. The duct was cramped and she knew her elbows and knees were going to bear the brunt of the journey. "Here I go, into the breech." She started crawling, muttered to herself, "This job always seemed a lot more glamourous on television."

Steed had been right. The duct led to a very thin wire grate at the back of the house, one which gave very quickly under Purdey's kicking assault. She dropped the short distance onto the ground and quickly sprinted around the corner and hid as a guard passed by on his rounds. He failed to notice her, and Purdey stood for a moment, to quiet her pounding heart and consider her options. She was near the small wood that backed onto Wollerton's property. It would be easy to disappear into it and hide herself until she reached the end of Wollerton's property. There wouldn't be much surveillance after that, and she would be safe to start the long walk to…where? There wasn't a village or a phone for miles, and by the time she reached one, Wollerton could have put his plan into action, and Gambit and Steed would be…Well, she didn't want to think about it.

No, Purdey decided, it was better to finish her mission, now, and to do that, she needed Steed and Gambit. Purdey peered around the corner and looked for any watchers before sprinting off. She needed a way in.

"Déjà vu?" Steed asked as Gambit took a seat on the bench and let his eyes rove around the cell.

"Hmm?" Mike said absently, turning to look his way. "Sorry?"

"The cell," Steed repeated. "Last time we were locked up, you had a bit of an…episode."

Gambit snorted. "You make it sound like I was ready for the padded room."

"Not my intent."

Gambit waved it off. "That one was different. Looked right. Felt right. This one's the Ritz in comparison." He sighed. "I was thinking of Purdey. Think she'll get out all right?"

"I know it," Steed said with confidence.

Purdey, meanwhile, had found her way into the kitchens. They were unoccupied, but the beginnings of lunch had been laid out. A low grumble reminded her that she hadn't had anything since breakfast. Purdey looked about cautiously, then threw some cold cuts between two pieces of bread to make a quick sandwich. She took a bite and set off down the corridor. It didn't take long to find her way back to the cell.

There were two guards standing at attention on either side of the cell door. Purdey peered around the corner, then whipped back when one of them looked her way. Swallowing her bite of sandwich, she pondered the predicament. She was too far away to rush the guards, and there was no cover in the barren halls. If only she could make them look the other way, just for a moment. Purdey ran a hand through her tousled hair thoughtfully. A hair pin came loose and found its way into her hand. Purdey looked at it for a moment, then smiled.

The guards heard a faint ting down the hall, and turned toward it. Purdey, boots moving quickly and soundlessly across the corridor, managed to catch up to the first guard in time to land a sold right hook on his chin with her sandwich-free hand. The other guard moved to draw his gun, but one long leg kicked out and made contact. Two more kicks and the man was out for the count. Purdey took another bite while she contemplated her handiwork, then set about searching for keys. The second man had them, clipped onto his belt for easy access. Very easy, Purdey mused, as she liberated them.

Juggling keys and sandwich, Purdey managed to open the observation slat, and peer inside. Steed was seated on their bench, and Gambit was pacing the floor. At the sound of the slat opening, they both looked her way. Her cheery grin was just visible through the bars even as the quip escaped her lips.

"Were you the gentlemen wanting the room change?" she said, as though she were the maid at a high-class hotel. "And I use the term loosely," she added as Gambit's face neared the bars. He raised an eyebrow.

"How do you know I'm not a gentleman?"

"Call it intuition."

"Purdey, is that you?" Steed's voice came from behind Gambit as they struggled to see through the small gap simultaneously.

"Finally!" Purdey said with relief. "We're past Miss Bryde. And all it took was an hour or so in confinement. What else have you two learned?"

"There are 192 tiles on the ceiling," Gambit offered helpfully. "I counted. Twice. Steed'll confirm."

"Clever boy," Purdey commented, taking a bite of her sandwich. Gambit squinted at her as she chewed.

"Are you eating again?" he asked in disbelief. "After all those omelettes this morning?"

"I missed lunch," Purdey justified, reaching her sandwich hand through the slat and waving it at Gambit. "Hold this."

Gambit took it obediently, and opened it up.

"What is it?" Steed wanted to know.

"Looks like ham on rye," Gambit told him, regarding the half-eaten sandwich, suddenly realizing he was feeling a bit peckish himself. Nothing since breakfast. He took a bite.

"Prefer cucumber myself," Steed commented. "Very refreshing."

"Too noisy," Purdey said as she started trying keys in the lock. "All that crunching. I needed something quiet."

"A stealth sandwich? For the busy agent on the go?" Gambit quipped between bites. Purdey smiled, even though the key she'd tried hadn't been too successful. "Have you ever been full?"

"I think once, maybe, in '72, but it was such a new experience I can't be sure." She grinned at him madly through the bars.

"I thought," Steed broke in, "I told you to get away and call for reinforcements."

"You did," Purdey confirmed, trying another key.

Steed waited a moment, then realized he was going to have to push the conversation along himself. "Well?" he asked, slightly annoyed.

Purdey snorted. "Do I look like a Border Collie?" she demanded.

Steed looked to Gambit for an explanation, but the younger agent just raised his eyebrows in a "don't ask me, I don't understand her either," gesture. It was all right, though, because Purdey elaborated, motoring along as her mind made its strange calculations.

"I mean, go for help? That's the dog's job. How would I look if I went running back? 'Help! Help! Steed and Gambit fell down the well.' That'd look very nice on my transcript. I do have Scottish ancestors, but no one's called me 'lassie' since a summer holiday that way when I was eight." She was running out of keys, and none of them had worked. She kept at it. One of them had to fit. "Besides, this place is in the middle of nowhere. By the time I found a road, let alone a car and a phone, Wollerton would have accomplished whatever it is he's been planning."

"You don't know that," Steed pointed out.

"Yes, I do," Purdey retorted. "And so do you. Besides, I did get this far, and I've almost got you—" the door clicked, "out," she finished with relish. "Unless you'd like me to leave you in there while I stop Wollerton myself. With a few touches, maybe some drapes, it could be quite homey in there."

"No, thank you," Steed demurred as he stepped out in the corridor, taking in the unconscious guards. "But you've done well. Top marks for initiative. I did want to give you the option of getting out."

Purdey raised an eyebrow. "Was that a test?"

Steed smiled. "If you'd like it to be."

"And I passed?"

"With flying colours. There will be times, though, when I'd prefer it if you followed orders."

Purdey nodded at Gambit. "Do you?"

Gambit snorted. "Why do you think he's got you keeping an eye on me?" He handed her back the remainder of her sandwich. "Did you search the guards for weapons?"

Purdey shook her head, holding up the sandwich and keys. "I only have so many hands."

"I can see that," Gambit replied, already frisking the bodies. He came up with one pistol between the two of them. "Wollerton doesn't waste money in the weapons department."

"He doesn't need to, if he's successful in achieving his goal," Steed pointed out. Purdey reached out a hand.

"That's mine, isn't it?"

Gambit frowned. "Why? I found it."

"I knocked him out."

"I'm a good shot."

"So am I. Pips out of an apple at 20 paces," Purdey gloated.

"Ah, but have you seen me at the range?"

"Yes," Purdey reminded, and Gambit frowned at the memory.

"Not when I was trying."

"As certain as I am that you're an excellent shot," Steed cut in, "Purdey, the gun should go to Gambit."

Purdey sulked. "Why?"

"You don't seem to need it, for one," Steed pointed out. "Unless those guards did that to themselves."

One of the men stirred slightly. Purdey kicked him lightly in the right part of the temple, and he went down again.

"You have a point."

"That's settled," Steed beamed. "Now let's see about retrieving my bowler."

"Really, Steed. I know your hat is important to you, but—" Purdey started.

"It's not the hat so much as what's in it," Steed explained as he started down the corridor, with Purdey and Gambit in tow.

"In?" Purdey queried. "Your head is here. You might notice the weight on your shoulders."

"Compartment," Gambit clarified. "He stored the self-destruct codes. Hopefully they haven't been found."

Purdey nodded in understanding and took another bite of the sandwich. Gambit shook his head.

"What I want to know," he went on, "is where it all goes. I mean, it obviously doesn't do your figure any harm."

Purdey smiled around a mouthful of bread. "I've always had a fast metabolism," she explained. "People used to call me skinny, no matter how much I ate."

"Have these people seen you since?" Gambit wanted to know.

Purdey shook her head. "Reunion next year."

"They're in for a surprise," Gambit predicted, taking in her figure again.

"I remember last year, in training, some of the others bet that I couldn't finish this huge steak," Purdey reminisced.

"And?" Gambit asked.

Purdey grinned. "I ended up with a hundred pounds between the lot of them."

Gambit shook his head. "I can believe it."

"As interested as I am in Purdey's dietary preferences," Steed interrupted, stepping between them and breaking their friendly banter, "did either of you happen to see where they took my bowler after I was captured?"

"Oh, yes. There's a guard room down that way." Purdey pointed with the hand holding the last bite of her sandwich.

"Then," Steed declared tersely, "we go that way." He did an abrupt about-face and went back the way they had come. Purdey looked at Gambit and popped the last piece of sandwich into her mouth. Gambit grinned and jerked his head in Steed's direction.

"What's eating him?" he punned, and Purdey stopped chewing long enough to groan.

"Mike Gambit," she chastised, but she couldn't resist a ghost of a smile before following in Steed's wake.

Back at the guard room, Steed liberated both bowler and umbrella just as Purdey and Gambit reached him. They joined him just in time to see him open a small compartment in the bowler's crown and extract a piece of paper. They each peered over a shoulder in an attempt to read it.

"That's it?" Gambit inquired. "That's the sequence that'll make that monstrosity short-circuit?"

"That's what our people tell me," Steed confirmed, folding it up again and sliding it into his breast pocket. "But then they only had your photographs to go by."

"I hope your lighting was good," Purdey opined. "I'd hate to get it wrong because Gambit's photography skills were inadequate."

Gambit pulled a face. "And I suppose you were a professional photographer before you joined us?"

"Certainly not," Purdey countered. "But I have done a bit of modelling, and I know a thing or two about lighting."

Gambit raised an eyebrow. "Modelling? Anything I might have seen?"

"It wasn't for those sorts of magazines."

"As happy as I am that you're suddenly getting along so well," Steed cut in. "There is the small matter of a murderous machine in the next room."

"What's the matter, Steed? You don't like to see people getting on? Maybe starting to trust one another?" Gambit's voice had taken on a bitter note, and Purdey frowned and put her hands on her hips.

"Really, what is going on between the two of you? I feel as though I've been dropped in the middle of the War of the Roses without a history lesson."

"Nothing that need concern you at the moment," Steed told her, shooting Gambit a warning look. "As I said, more important things to attend to. And as for trust, Gambit, you have the gun. I'll trust you to watch my back while we make our way back to the computer room and end this once and for all." His eyes burned into Mike's, daring him to make a smart retort. Gambit, to his credit, knew when not to cross the line, and didn't, and Steed allowed himself a small smile of triumph. "Now then, shall we go?"

They made their way back to the computer room without incident, and were relieved to find it unoccupied. Steed removed the piece of paper, hurried over to the control panels with Purdey and Gambit in tow. His eyes danced over the array of buttons and switches before returning to the paper. "Right," he began. "I'll read them out, and the pair of you can work out what gets pushed when."

"Are you sure we should be doing this?" Purdey queried. "I mean, we still don't know quite what it's meant to do, or why."

"We don't have time for that," Steed countered. "Please, just do as I say."

Purdey nodded. "All right. Yes. Of course. I trust you." She returned her attention to the panels. "Go."

"Right. There should be a switch on the top right…"

"Got it," Gambit confirmed. "It has three settings. Which one do we want."

"The middle one."

"Done."

"Good. Next…" Steed read each instruction in turn, letting Purdey and Gambit find the required dials, buttons, and switches based on terse descriptions alone. They did so quickly and efficiently, working in tandem to pick up what the other had missed, and Steed allowed himself a small smile at how well their little threesome was working out. Eventually, there was only one step remaining, and Steed lowered the piece of paper to find the target himself. It was painfully easy to spot.

"No…" Gambit followed Steed's line of sight and shook his head. "No, it can't be…"

"The big red button?" Purdey finished, eyes fixed on a large, red circle near the middle of the panel. "But that only works in films. And television, like you said. We can't actually be talking about pressing the big red button, can we?"

"Looks that way," Gambit mused, allowing himself a low chuckle. "The file clerk's never going to believe this when I submit my report. It's ridiculous."

"Preposterous," Purdey agreed.

"Laughable, even."

"Corny. A cliché."

"Cliché or not," Steed cut in. "It's definitely the last step, so we had better deal with it, don't you think?"

"Who's going to do the honours?" Purdey wanted to know. Steed smiled.

"Since it's been a team effort, why not all three of us?" He waited for Purdey and Gambit to catch his smile, waited for them to smile along with him.

"Why not?" Gambit said, and for once, there was no malice there.

"That's a wonderful idea," Purdey added.

"Excellent," Steed enthused. "Now then, on the count of three." They all raised a hand above the button, poised to press it on Steed's mark."

"One…"

"Two…"

"I wouldn't, if I were you."


	14. The Big Bang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, John Steed, and Thomas McKay. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended
> 
> Timeline: First in a series. Takes place in late December, 1975, a full four months before the start of the series in April, 1976. It is strongly recommended that you go back and read the previous story in the arc, Lost Boys. Those interested in the rest of the series are, of course, invited to read the subsequent stories in the arc.
> 
> For more information about the series, please see my profile.
> 
> \-----------------------------------------------------------

The voice came from behind them. As one, Steed, Purdey, and Gambit whirled around to face the speaker. They were not surprised to discover that it was Wollerton, flanked by Doris Westbrook, and three heavies, the latter all armed. They trained their weapons on the trio of agents, daring them to try something. Wollerton looked from his men to the trio and smiled at their predicament.

"Of course, if you did press it, you would simply be furthering my plans, but I was rather hoping to save that honour for myself. So if you don't mind…?" He indicated that they should move away from the button. Steed, Purdey, and Gambit exchanged glances, then slowly raised their hands in surrender. Wollerton nodded happily to himself, smiling pleasantly.

"Good, good," he praised congenially. "I'm glad you've decided to be sensible." He walked toward them, envoy in tow. He stopped in front of Purdey and looked her up and down.

"So, our Miss Bryde isn't all she seems. I can't say I'm terribly surprised, though I'd rather hoped she was genuine. As I did you, gentlemen." He turned to look at Gambit and Steed. "I imagine Commander Gamble and Major Equus were as fictitious as Miss Bryde's references? Again, a bit disappointing. You seemed very likeable chaps. Much more engaging than some of my other party guests." He sighed. "But you can't have everything, I suppose. I assume you're here to try and stop me, foil my plans." He grinned. "I'm curious—do you even know what it is you're stopping?"

"This," Purdey piped up, unable to contain herself. Wollerton was much too smug for his own good, too unfazed by her betrayal, and somehow it smarted that he found her treachery so plausible. She thought she had put in a fine performance, and she wasn't about to let him have his moment. She gestured irritably at the machine. "We know it's been used to murder more than two dozen people," she added, eyes blazing with righteous indignation. "People who didn't deserve to die."

"No, they probably didn't," Wollerton agreed, as though he were conceding some trifling point during a particularly leisurely lunch. "Except for one fellow. Young man. Travers, I think he was called. He was making a pest of himself. Cost us precious days, sticking his nose in where it didn't belong."

"Reggie Travers?" Gambit's eyes flashed dangerously, at the name, and Purdey saw a muscle jump in his jaw. "I knew it. The way he was found, shot after he was already dead, but no other marks on him. Just like that lot in there." He jerked his head at the door to the makeshift morgue they'd visited the night before. Gambit's shoulders were heaving now, pent-up anger finding an outlet and channeling itself both physically and vocally. The low, even tone he had been using thus far was quickly dissolving into a fierce growl. "Only you didn't bother adding him to your collection. Just dumped him like last night's rubbish!"

"Friend of yours, was he?" Wollerton looked Gambit up and down with interest, completely unperturbed by his reaction. "I imagine you're from his department, then. All of you. Agents, spies, whatever you call yourselves."

"That's right," Purdey snapped. "And we've called in. Our people know exactly where we are."

"I'm sure they do," Wollerton said unconcernedly. "But it won't do you much good, I'm afraid. By the time they realize you're missing, it'll be too late. And anyone they send can easily be dealt with, using this machine." He patted the control panel beside them. "Do you know how it works, or are you working off hunches, just like Travers?"

They kept silent, and Wollerton laughed. "No, I don't imagine you've worked it all out."

"It emits some sort of pulse," Gambit said after a moment. "And it can be used to stun or kill."

"Very good, Commander—well, whatever your real name is. I don't care terribly. But why don't you step over here and I'll fill in the rest?" His henchmen joined him and prodded the triumvirate to step away from the control panel and toward the behemoth itself. Wollerton gestured at it vaguely.

"It emits a pulse, as you say. Now, some electromagnetic pulses can be used, have been used, to disable various pieces of electronic equipment. Circuits, transistors, whole power grids, the lot. They're able to shut down the communications between the various components. Now I thought, if it can be done between various components, why not between living cells?"

Gambit felt his eyes narrow. "That's why the bodies were unmarked," he realized, and Wollerton nodded eagerly, glad to have an intelligent audience.

"Exactly, my dear counterfeit commander. Create a pulse that can shut down the communications between all the cells in the body, and the victims die without ever being touched or violated in any way. The heart stops, the lungs stop, the brain stops. Every single part fails to communicate with the other. Eventually, with nothing to keep things going, the brain dies, the organs die, the body suffocates from lack of air. But there is no violence, no violence at all." He shook his head. "There's no call for it when it's not needed."

"Didn't stop you from shooting Travers," Gambit snapped, eyes flashing dangerously.

"Ah, yes," Wollerton agreed, nodding sadly. "Yes, we did have to stoop to that, but only because we knew someone would be looking for the body, and we wanted to ensure the reason he died remained a mystery, at least for the time being."

"But some of the other victims, they had injuries, too," Purdey cut in, remembering the corpses in the morgue. "And they weren't inflicted after the fact."

"Ah, yes. Well, it took time to perfect the machine, of course. Early attempts destroyed the cells, rather than cutting them off from the rest of the body. If we were going to ensure it would be able to stun—sever the connections only briefly—it was vital to perfect it to kill without damage, as well. We tried to use other test subjects—animals and plants—but in the end you really must use humans. There's no substitute."

Purdey's lip curled in disgust. "You killed innocent people to test your machine?"

"Yes, civilians. And some of my own employees who became…uncomfortable with my research, and had to be disposed of. But they died in the name of science."

"In the name of madness," Gambit countered defiantly. "Bad enough you made the damned thing, but then you had to get cute with it, try to make it subtle, even if the effect was the same." Wollerton glared, and stepped forward to thrust his face close to his.

"I would not expect a man of brute force and blunt instruments to understand the intricacies of my life's work," he spat. "I perfect my work because I take pride in it. And in the end it is more humane. The victims feel nothing. They are dead before they hit the ground."

Gambit curled his lips into a sneer. "Give me a chance, and we'll see how humane you think it is when it's your body being abused."

Wollerton swung his fist around and caught Gambit below the jaw. Purdey winced as the crack echoed throughout the chamber. Gambit fell to the floor, instinctively nursing a bloody lip. Wollerton smiled down at him smugly.

"Do you prefer to feel pain before you die, Commander?" he asked. "Because you are experiencing much more of it than my later victims ever did. I am not a sadist. I take no pleasure in the suffering of others."

"That's very decent of you," Gambit said sarcastically, picking himself up and shaking off the blow. "I can see you've been horribly misunderstood."

"I have," Wollerton snapped, starting to pace up and down in front of the machine. "Those fools at the Ministry, they wanted to regulate my research, my projects, with committees, and reports, and board meetings. They made me beg for funding like a pauper on a street corner, measuring out the pennies, never giving me enough to do anything properly…"

"So you sought alternate means?" Steed inquired levelly, speaking for the first time. He had been quietly taking a measure of the situation, and Purdey had almost forgotten he was there, her attention monopolized by the madman who now turned crazed eyes on Steed. "From our friends behind the Iron Curtain? Then disguised it by funneling it through legitimate contracts and projects. That is how you arranged the funding?"

Wollerton scowled at the man's prescience. "Yes, we indulged in some creative bookkeeping for both funds and supplies," he acknowledged. "But if it hadn't been for this country's lack of vision, I'd have had no need for it. As it is, I've been forced to go elsewhere. But our allegiance is only temporary."

Steed frowned. "How do you mean?"

Wollerton smiled. "Ah, that would be telling."

Purdey made a face. "I don't see what you have to lose. You're planning on killing us anyway, aren't you?"

"True," Wollerton considered. "It's not as though it matters. None of it has, really. Not for some time. We've become complacent in recent weeks, biding our time until we can set our plan in motion…"

Purdey arched an eyebrow. "Which is?"

Wollerton looked at her as though he were disappointed. "Really, Miss Bryde? I assume you've studied my files. Haven't you sorted it out by this point?"

"I might have," Purdey said, with a small, secretive little smile. "But perhaps I want you to confirm."

"I'd like to hear your theory first," Wollerton said, with genuine interest.

Purdey shrugged, ignoring the warning looks Gambit and Steed were shooting her way. "If you like. May I?" She indicated the machine, and Wollerton nodded for her to walk toward it. Purdey did so, rested a hand thoughtfully on the steel surface.

"You're going to use this machine to achieve some end," she began, "but it's not about money. Not really. Your profile makes it quite clear that you only value resources as a means to an end—your research—not an end in itself. You don't really care for power, either. Just the chance to not be under someone else's thumb." She stroked the metal surface, brow creased in thought. "You have two machines, connected, obviously so they can work in tandem." She turned to look at Wollerton. "How am I so far?"

"Spot on, Miss Bryde." Wollerton was beaming at her, clearly pleased with her. "Please, continue."

Purdey inclined her head in agreement, turned away from the machine and started to pace slowly up and down the length. Gambit opened his mouth to say something, then shut it again when Steed glanced his way. Let her talk, the grey eyes seemed to say. She may know better than either of us how to get out of this mess. Gambit nodded reluctantly. He hated to admit it, but his jaw throbbed like hell, and Wollerton's punch had made his head spin. The man was more powerful than he looked. He squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to refocus, before opening them again and looking to Purdey. "If you're not after the usual motivators, and, as you say, you're planning on cutting your allegiances, well, you must be motivated by only one thing," Purdey was saying.

"Which is?" Wollerton was regarding her the way one might a prize pupil.

Purdey shrugged. "Privacy," she said simply. "The opportunity to conduct your research, unmolested, for the rest of your life. And this machine—it can do it for you." She rapped the metal side. "With it, you can hold the world at bay—or as a hostage. Force it to provide you with any and all resources you may require. And then leave you to enjoy them."

Wollerton raised his hands and applauded. "Perfect. Quite perfect. I sincerely hope you've been utilized outside the office, Miss Bryde. I could use someone with your talents on my team."

Purdey smiled at the compliment. "Yes, well, I'm waiting for another offer," she said, looking meaningfully at Gambit and Steed.

"Such a pity. You understand my motivations perfectly. I do intend to hold the nation—and any other state foolish enough to try and stop me—hostage. I have factories all over Europe, you know. All outfitted with smaller versions of this device, and all controlled by this central unit. On New Year's Eve, I shall hold a demonstration in London. I think I will start by rendering the city unconscious, to prevent loss of life, but if they refuse to agree to my terms, to fund my projects and allow me to research in peace, then I may have to use the deadlier setting." He sighed. "It is not an idea I relish, I assure you, but I must be able to continue my work."

Purdey arched a skeptical eyebrow. "Is that really all you want? To be left alone?"

"Well…" Wollerton shifted a little, uncomfortable under Purdey's penetrating blue-eyed gaze. "I will, of course, require resources. Equipment, supplies, funds. But as long as those are provided, I will be quite content to leave well enough alone. I have no interest in politics."

"No?" Purdey crossed her arms and regarded him with that enigmatic little smile again. "Not tempted at all to remake the country, if not the world, in your own image using the power at your disposal?"

"Not at all."

"Not even a little?" Purdey's eyes widened significantly.

"I am not a tyrant, nor a dictator," Wollerton snapped. "I am a scientist, first, foremost, and alone. As long as my relatively simple needs are met, there is no reason for me to harm anyone or interfere with their lives, and I do not intend to."

Purdey shook her head gently from side to side. "It doesn't work that way, Mr. Wollerton," she said quietly. "Feudal lords didn't take much interest in the day-to-day lives of their serfs, either, as long as they paid their dues. But they were guilty of authoritarianism all the same. They still ruled using fear to keep the people in line, and they would not hesitate to strike out to maintain that fear." She looked up at the machine. "Anyone with a basic grasp of political theory knows that. Even a girl with two political science courses at the Sorbonne to her name." She looked back at him. "And once you've slid that far right down the spectrum, takes only one small push to thrust you into the embrace of the radical right."

Wollerton shook his head fervently. "I'm not a dictator," he repeated. "Not an ideologue. I deal in science, not my own cult of personality."

"Liar!" Purdey's voice had lost its gentle, prodding lilt, and now grew into a full-fledged yell that echoed throughout the cavernous room. She pointed accusingly at Wollerton. "You're well on your way to totalitarianism. You want a world shaped to your own specifications, tailor-made for your own personality. You say you don't care about politics, but have you really deluded yourself into believing that there will never be a time when a bill comes before Parliament that doesn't meet with your approval?" She thrust her face up close to his, lips drawn back in a sneer. "And you honestly believe you won't use your power to stop it? You won't succumb to the temptation? And then it's a slippery slope. What happens when you want your research implemented outside of your little lab? Don't tell me you want to invent and never see any of it brought to fruition? Before you know it, you're making the decisions. You're running things, and the people elected by the public, they're nothing but puppets. And then you're not a scientist any longer. You're just like every other egomaniac who thinks the world would look better remade in his own image, only with the means to do it. You say you're not a political animal, but everyone is, when it gets down to brass tacks." She leaned back, brushed a lock of blonde hair of her eyes coolly. "You can rationalize it all you want, Wollerton. But I know what you are."

Wollerton was standing, stiff and immobile, quivering with rage. His hands were balled into fists at his sides, teeth clenched. He raised one arm threateningly, but Purdey saw it, clucked her tongue warningly.

"You're not going to try to hit me, are you?" she said icily, cool as the proverbial cucumber, eyes flashing dangerously. "Because I don't take kindly to people trying to hit me."

"No?" Wollerton stalked over to one of his men, snatched his gun from his hand and walked back to Purdey. He raised it to her forehead, took the safety off. Gambit blanched and took a step toward her, but the other two men turned their weapons on him. Unable to stop her physically, Gambit turned pleading eyes on her.

"Purdey, what the hell do you think you're doing?" he hissed. "Do you want to get yourself killed?"

"Not especially, but it's no more than I expected. He may be a scientist, but at his core he's just another power-hungry madman. A bit disappointing, really. I was hoping for someone a little more original." Purdey crossed her arms and looked Wollerton up and down as though unimpressed. "Are all the people you come up against this clichéd?"

"Not the ones I've met," Gambit informed, feeling sweat trickle down his back as he watched Wollerton's finger twitch on the trigger. "Steed's had a bit more experience."

"The problem with you, Gambit," Purdey almost scolded, paying little heed to the gun barrel tickling her forehead, "is that you put too much stock in Steed. He is a legend, I'll grant you, but surely he must see something in us if we're along for the ride. And yet you're looking to him to get us out of this and all but ignoring me. I mean, I could do something very unexpected at any moment."

Gambit's eyes flicked to Steed, who nodded imperceptibly. He'd cottoned to the fact that Purdey was trying to send them a message as well. Gambit felt his body tense for action.

Wollerton moved closer and smiled an oily smile. "Really? You're about to do something unexpected?"

"Oh, yes. Very surprising," Purdey assured him, carefully gauging just how close he was, how distracted he was by his own anger. Or confidence. "Any minute now I could do something like, say, this." She brought her knee up into his stomach so fast that Gambit wasn't certain he'd seen it at all. He didn't take time to dwell on the spectacle, however, sensing rather than seeing Wollerton's men turn to shoot Purdey, and charging at them instead. He clamped onto the gun hand of one, flung him back against the wall, held the weapon safely away from himself with one hand as he used the other to creep up the heavy's neck and press down on the nerve nexus. The man struggled for a moment before going limp and sliding down the wall. The second, unarmed man jumped him from behind, but Gambit flipped him neatly over his shoulder, planted his boot on his chest before he could recover, and delivering a devastating chop to the man's carotid artery. Satisfied, he looked up in time to catch Steed putting the bowler's steel crown to work, striking the third goon hard enough that the metallic clang reverberated throughout the cavernous space. Wollerton himself was trying to flee, and Steed and Gambit took off as one after him. They caught him just before he reached the door, twisted his arms behind his back.

"I think that's far enough, Wollerton," Gambit murmured close to his ear, relieving him of his gun. "Maybe if you're very good, they'll let you have some Meccano in your cell, and you can build yourself a new toy." He looked over his shoulder at Purdey, who was struggling with Doris Westbrook. "Need some help over there, Purdey-girl?" he called to her.

"No," came the reply. "There's just something I've got to do. I've been promising myself this all week…" She twisted the woman around, pulled back a fist. "This," she said pleasantly, "is for all those nasty comments about my shorthand." With that, she unleashed a devastating right hook that sent the woman reeling. She staggered back against the control panel, her hand coming down hard on the big red button. Gambit and Steed exchanged alarmed looks as the sound of machinery whirring to life reached their ears.

"Purdey!" Steed yelled over the noise at the girl, who was glued to the spot, transfixed by the machine. "Get away from there!"

Their distraction proved enough for Wollerton to struggle free, but rather than try to escape, he instead fled toward the machine, running for the control panel and flicking switches desperately.

"No," he murmured under his breath. "No, NO! What have you done? You've ruined everything!"

Gambit and Steed ignored him, sprinting toward Purdey, each grabbing one of her arms and dragging her bodily away.

"That thing's gone into meltdown mode," Gambit screamed over the racket. "What did they say the fallout would be?"

"Nothing we want to be near to, I'm sure," Steed called back. Purdey had shaken off her daze and was running with them now, out the door and down the hall, past the rows of cells. "We should get out of the building."

"We're in the basement!" Purdey pointed out. "There isn't a way out!"

"There is if we go upstairs!" Gambit pointed toward a door at the end of the hall, made a beeline for it and kicked it open. It led to a stairwell, and he darted into it, trusting the other two to follow. They spiraled ever upward, feet pounding on the stone, mental countdowns echoing in their heads. The first door Gambit came across refused to open, and he cursed under his breath before continuing upward. The second door gave under his boot, took them out into a hall with a large bay window. Gambit found a chair and smashed it against the glass. Purdey, just coming through the stairwell door, shielded herself as odd shards of glass tinkled downward from the broken window.

"Mike Gambit, what on earth-?"

Gambit didn't let her finish, grabbed her arm and dragged her bodily over to the newly-created opening. "Jump," he ordered.

Purdey gaped at him. "From the second floor? Are you mad?"

"Just realistic."

"Realistic? I'll break every bone in my body!"

"Not if you land right. Maybe an arm and a leg. They taught you how to tuck and roll in class, didn't they?"

"Yes, but—"

"Good. Theory into practice."

"But—"

"We'll be blown to pieces if we stay here." Steed was behind her, still clutching his bowler. "There isn't time to find another way out, Purdey. I'm afraid Gambit's option, reckless as it seems, is our only chance."

Gambit scowled at him. "Thanks ever so. I've noticed that all your insane ideas are classified as 'brilliant' for posterity, but everything I come up with is automatically 'reckless' or 'foolhardy' or 'suicidal' in reports. Funny that."

"I don't recall using any of those adjectives," Steed said mildly. "Well, not more than once a report, at any rate."

"That's it, isn't it? You think I'm just going to run in and get everyone killed? But you never trust me enough to say it to my face! Any of it!"

"I don't know what you're talking about! I've been completely honest with you. If anyone went behind someone's back, it was you at the Christmas party."

"Just because I'm not so damned afraid of my past that I can't even say 'hello' to a woman does not make me a back-stabber."

"No?"

"Enough!" Purdey exclaimed, looking from one to the other in disgust. "I don't know what's going on between the pair of you, but all your squabbling enough to make me want to jump." Steed and Gambit regarded her blankly. "Now, are we going to get out, are we going to stand here so I can spend my last moments watching you struggle over who gets to play alpha male?" She pursed her lips in disgust. "Men…"

Steed smiled beatifically at her. "Purdey, I want to thank you for your wonderful lucidity in the face of danger. Your performance earlier was really nothing short of spectacular."

Purdey's scowl transformed magically into a smile. "Really?"

"Really," Gambit agreed. "You were brilliant, Purdey-girl. You're going to make a great agent. Now hurry up and jump out the window. There's a queue."

Purdey's face fell. "What-?"

"Ladies first," Steed chipped in, turning her around and propelling her toward the opening.

"We're not really going to—"

"Oh yes we are," Gambit confirmed, hearing the telltale rumble of an explosion starting beneath their feet. "Remember, tuck and roll." With that, he shoved her unceremoniously out the window before leaping out himself, followed closely by Steed. Purdey screamed in surprise as the ground rushed up to meet her and the building crumbled behind her. Then a large piece of what felt like rock struck her in the back, the ground opened to swallow her up, and she knew no more.

Purdey was jerked awake by a coughing fit, brought on by her lungs' desperate struggle to replace dust and soil with something approaching fresh air. Or any air at all. She felt like she was suffocating, and her diaphragm was spasming so violently to force all the garbage out that she wasn't certain she'd be able to breathe in before she passed out. Blackness danced at the edges of her vision, or at least she thought it did—everything looked black, or at the very least a murky grey. She wasn't certain how long she lay there, curled up on her side, hacking away. Something told her she lapsed in and out of consciousness at least once before her breathing became regular, and even then she was far from out of the woods. Now that her cerebellum had remembered its job and started to send the "breathe in, breathe out" message on its own, she could start gathering information about where she was, and how she'd ended up there.

Touch caught her attention first, the grit beneath her hands: soil, small pebbles, blades of grass sticking to her palms. That kicked smell into gear. She could detect earth and damp all around her, and she reached out blindly. Her hand came in contact with moist earth, and she dug in with fingernails to drag herself upright. Immediately her whole right side protested violently, and Purdey bit back a shriek of pain, not for Spartan endurance, but because some alarm bell in the back of her mind told her that it would be a bad idea to cry out and reveal her position. Wherever she was.

Somehow, she dragged herself upright, and leaned against the earthen wall for support. For the first time, she noticed she'd shut her eyes tight against pain and grime, and it was with great effort she pried them open. Everything was dark and blurry, and she fought down a momentary burst of panic before the logical part of her brain told her that it was her damned hair obscuring her vision like a blonde curtain. She pawed it out of the way impatiently, but it didn't help much. Her earthen hideaway was just this side of pitch black, and Purdey felt along the wall for some sort of exit. It was slightly claustrophobic, and she didn't fancy hanging about.

She hadn't gone three feet before her feet ended up tangled with some sort of obstruction, and she went down like a ton of bricks. She braced herself for impact, but as it happened her fall was cushioned by something that felt distinctly fleshy. Something that answered back.

"Argh!" exclaimed the lump, and Purdey recognized the disgruntled male voice. "Watch it!"

"Gambit?" Purdey asked the dark, feeling about beneath her and making out what seemed to be a well-toned back. She found the spine and slid a hand along it in search of the head of curls. It soon became apparent that she'd gone the wrong way, though, because Gambit's next noise was half a chuckle.

"If you wanted to grope about in the dark, you didn't need to knock me out first," he quipped, sounding quite pleased with himself.

Purdey smiled to herself, too relieved at the sound of his voice to be annoyed at the innuendo. She patted her way back up the spine and found his head the time. "Just feel lucky you weren't lying on your back. Are you all right?"

"I will be once you've taken your elbow out of my side," Gambit grunted, shifting irritably.

"Sorry."

"Doesn't matter. How many ribs does a chap need, anyway?" Gambit muttered ruefully.

"Depends. How tight do you want to cinch your corset?" Purdey quipped.

"As I recall, I left mine at home." The other voice was a few feet away, but sounded robust and healthy.

"Steed?" Purdey asked the blackness.

"Present and accounted for, although I can't say the same for my bowler," the senior agent said in concern, hands questing for the elusive chapeau.

"I think I've found it," Gambit muttered, and a metallic clang echoed through their chamber. "Landed on the damn thing."

"Is it all right?" Purdey asked concernedly. She'd heard how attached Steed was to his hat, even when it wasn't carrying precious codes.

Gambit snorted. "It's fine. The job the steel crown did on my solar plexus is another matter."

"Ah, that's all right, then," Steed said cheerily, voice moving ever-so-slightly their way. "Everyone up to standing?"

"Just as soon as Purdey's finished using me as a mattress," Gambit replied tiredly. "Under any other circumstances I'd be glad for it."

"Another narrow escape," Purdey said flippantly, but then the memories came crashing back, and she remembered the chase, the door, the window, and Gambit's unceremonious shove. And falling. The ground must have given way, she reasoned, although she couldn't fathom why.

She pushed up from Gambit as she pondered this conundrum, and felt Gambit rise beneath her. What followed was a confused tangle of arms and legs as the trio desperately tried to stand in the dark.

"Steed, is that you?"

"Purdey, I didn't know you cared."

"If that's your hand, Mike Gambit, it had better be there by accident."

"I hope that doesn't go for yours."

"What's happened to the bowler?"

"I'm not a contortionist."

"You're doing a very good impersonation."

Finally, they somehow managed to sort of who was where, and the bowler was safely back on Steed's head. Wherever that was.

"Hang on," Gambit told them, feeling safe enough to go searching for his pocket. "I've got a lighter here somewhere…ah!" He flicked it, and Purdey blinked against even the small flame. Once her eyes adjusted, she could take in their surroundings. Earth floor, earth walls, and a ceiling made entirely of what looked like more earth, and bits of fallen stone and wood from the manor house covering up a man-shaped hole that had been their unusual entry-point. Across from them, the fourth wall was blocked off with stone. Purdey frowned.

"A wall? Down here?" she asked out loud, cocking her head to one side in bemusement.

"It probably leads to the manor house," Steed hypothesized. "I've a feeling this used to be the root cellar, until Wollerton or one of the previous owners decided it had outlived its usefulness."

"Explains why the ground gave," Gambit muttered. "If Wolly hasn't been doing the upkeep, it's liable to have been eroded over the years. You can smell the rot. Three people landing on it from a second story window would have been too much for it."

Purdey moved over to tap the wall. It was unflinchingly solid. "It'll take more than that to get out again," she sighed as she turned back to her colleagues. "Unless you fancy trying one of your kicks on it, Gambit."

She could just barely make out his rueful headshake in the dim light. "Not this week. I like my kneecaps, believe it or not."

"Well, what do you suggest we do? Tunnel our way out?"

Steed approached, prodded the wall experimentally with his umbrella, which he had apparently been able to locate with the aid of their small flame. "Perhaps we can find a loose brick," he suggested. "If Wollerton's been as lackadaisical about its upkeep as he has the grounds, there's a chance it could all come apart if hit at just the right spot."

"Good luck," Gambit muttered, looking heavenward instead. "I say we try to get out the way we came. Purdey, come here. If you stand on my shoulders you should be able to reach the top, maybe see what's lying on top of us."

Purdey looked at Steed's outline, shrugged. "It worked once before," she admitted, and moved to where Gambit stood, braced against the wall. Gambit instinctively formed a stirrup with his hands, let Purdey step into them, then boosted her up, letting her climb up his body using the wall for support. Purdey felt her way along the dirt wall, left hand stretching valiantly for the ceiling, to try and touch what she hoped was a lightly-covered opening. Her just fingers brushed the top of their prison, and she braced herself against the wall again to keep from losing her balance. Below her, she could feel Gambit starting to quiver under the strain of keeping them both upright. She could smell his sweat, even up this high, and it temporarily broke her concentration. She knew he couldn't keep this up all day, but there was something about having the raw physicality of Mike Gambit just beneath her feet that was too much to ignore. She shook her head and pushed such thoughts aside, redoubled her efforts, straining to shift the world above. Something that felt like wood—a board, perhaps—shifted slightly at her touch, and she smiled.

"I think we can get out," she called down at her colleagues. "I just need to push some things out of the way. We're not buried very deep."

"Excellent," Steed enthused, but Gambit didn't comment, just grunted and braced himself harder against the wall. Purdey turned back to her task, intent on moving the first board. Before she had a chance to touch it, however, it moved aside of its own volition. Purdey recoiled in surprise as the board was followed by another, then a third, the last one revealing a patch of sky and a thin stream of sunlight. Purdey flinched at the sudden brightness, but when her eyes adjusted, she was surprised to see Larry Tate, a fellow agent Purdey has conversed with on more than one occasion. He beamed down at her surprised features.

"Purdey!" he greeted, reaching down to take her hand. "I thought I heard voices. What are you doing down there?"

"Trying to get out again," Purdey said truthfully, taking the hand and using it to help her lift off from Gambit and climb out of the pit. She emerged in a cloud of dust, dirty and disheveled, but very happy to be alive.

"Well, aren't you a sight?" Larry said with a chuckle as she sprawled on the grass. He looked back down into the hole where Steed and Gambit were waiting, waved cheerily at them as another agent arrived and lowered a rope. "Purdey, you see what comes from keeping bad company?"

"There's worse," Gambit snapped, taking the offering and using it to climb up the wall. He scrabbled out when it became clear Larry wasn't going to offer him a helping hand as he had Purdey. Steed followed him out into the bright sunshine. "How'd you find us, anyway?"

Larry shrugged carelessly. "Like I said, I heard the voices. Of course, the explosion attracted our attention first. Would have done even if Steed hadn't had us on stand-by." He nodded at the Ministry staff descending on the building, the recognizable figures of the clean-up crew. His face grew serious for a moment. "Is the machine, uh, disposed of?"

"I certainly hope so," Steed opined, brushing dust off his bowler.

"And Wollerton?"

"Was in the same room as his science project when it went," Steed confirmed.

"Probably just as well," Gambit added, making a half-hearted attempt at brushing down his jacket. "Even locked up, his brain would still be working. And if he contacted someone on the outside…" He let the sentence hang, with everything it implied. Purdey shuddered in spite of herself, and tried to turn her thoughts to more pleasant topics.

"Well," she said, as cheerfully as she could muster. "I know there must be paperwork, but I'm going to call this is the end of my first assignment. Tell me, what do agents usually do to celebrate?"

Steed smiled, entire demeanour radiating good cheer. "What do you say to a party?"


	15. Afterparty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, John Steed, and Thomas McKay. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended
> 
> Timeline: First in a series. Takes place in late December, 1975, a full four months before the start of the series in April, 1976. It is strongly recommended that you go back and read the previous story in the arc, Lost Boys. Those interested in the rest of the series are, of course, invited to read the subsequent stories in the arc.
> 
> For more information about the series, please see my profile.  
> \-------------------------------------------------------------

Gambit mounted the gangplank leading up the small pleasure craft Steed had leased for the evening, straightening his tuxedo jacket as he went. Aside from his obvious affinity for ships and sailing, Gambit was inordinately pleased to be attending this party. The night was crisp and clear, with a few bright stars twinkling despite the light pollution from the city. The Thames was calm and lapped soothingly against the bow. Even though the festivities were taking place inside the cabin, it was pleasant enough for a few of the guests to brave the elements and venture out on deck, champagne in hand. Gambit smiled to himself as he saw a couple disappear through a door that no doubt led to one of many berths, and wondered if Steed had taken that eventuality into account when planning his party. Probably. People would find a quiet place to slip away regardless of what happened, so a good host may as well do his best to accommodate them. Gambit wasn't adverse to touring the private corners of the ship himself, and had been known to do a little one-on-one celebrating if the opportunity presented itself. Whether or not it would tonight didn't bother him. He was really here for one person in particular, and regardless of whether she was in the mood for some idle chitchat, or something a little more intimate, he was going to enjoy himself. Spending time with the lovely Purdey Bryde off-duty was something he was determined to experience before she was snatched away by her myriad of instructors. Who knew if and when he'd have another chance to bask in the glow of those bright blue eyes?

Gambit ducked into the cabin, was immediately struck by a wave of warmth and animated conversation. The room was packed with people, all decked out in evening wear and chatting animatedly, champagne in hand. Gambit took a moment to survey the scene, hoping to spot a distinct head of blonde hair, but his search was interrupted by the host himself weaving through the crowd toward him.

"Gambit!" Steed yelled to be heard over the chatter, but even so Gambit read his name on Steed's lips more than heard it. The older man wended his way over to his side, beaming cheerily. Gambit had to admit he was relieved. After all, a week ago, at another party, Gambit had left with the most desirable partycrasher in England, at least as far as Steed was concerned. But now the senior agent seemed to be swept up in the mood of the evening, and he clapped a matey hand on Gambit's shoulder. "So glad you could come."

Gambit raised an eyebrow, sensing that Steed's friendliness had been helped along, at least a little, by the host's own champagne, but didn't comment. A well-lubricated Steed was less likely to try and push him overboard later in the evening. In any case, Steed had more important things to attend to that evening than old grudges.

"Thanks for inviting me," he yelled back, as Steed turned an ear toward him in a futile attempt to hear better. "Looks like it's a success."

"I think it's safe to say everyone took advantage of the 'plus one' on the invitation," Steed agreed, smiling out at the sea of faces, then looked back at Gambit. "Except you, I notice."

Gambit instinctively reached a hand out and plucked a glass of champagne off a passing tray. This wasn't the first party of Steed's he'd been to. One developed an instinct about these things. "No," he said with a smirk, "but I'm hoping someone here will fill in." He sipped the drink with a telling smile and dancing eyes.

"Purdey's over there," Steed said knowingly, pointing off toward the opposite end of the cabin toward the back entrance. "She arrived about a half hour before you, and has been successfully fending off any guest without a plus one, and a few with."

"Sounds like she needs a partner to back her up," Gambit quipped with a waggle of the eyebrows. "Someone's got to have her back, eh?"

"I'm so pleased you've had a change of heart," Steed said wryly. "I'll leave you two to form a barricade, and I'll join you just as soon as I've circulated."

"Aye aye, cap'n," Gambit said jauntily, saluting him with his non-glass-filled hand, and immediately wondering why. Clearly the champagne was already going to his head, but he usually held his liquor better than that. Then again, it had been one of those weeks. He was half-drunk on adrenaline and other things as it was. He started wading into the crowd.

Purdey was leaning against the wall, surveying the display over the rim of her glass with amused eyes. She'd chosen to sweep her hair up again, much as she had at Wollerton's party, and the long, soft pink evening gown she'd selected clung to her in all the right places without being too revealing. Gambit hung back a moment to take her in. His brain desperately searched every corner for some sign that he'd seen women this beautiful before, but came up empty. Maybe it was because he knew the woman behind the exquisitely-formed features, knew the world behind the bright blue eyes. But for a moment he looked at her, and knew, as he had never known before, that she was everything, and worth giving everything else up for. Including his demons. She was that kind of girl. The one that made you want to be a better man.

This was getting downright corny, Gambit mused as he downed the last of his champagne, and traded his empty glass for a full one with another convenient waiter before moving to join her. She saw him, and Gambit thought he saw her eyes light up a little at his approach. Oh, he hoped so.

"Good evening, Gambit," she greeted, and he resisted the urge to do a little dance at the fact that she'd forgone the 'Mr.'

"Good evening, Purdey," he replied, tacitly holding up his part of the bargain, and her lips quirked up a little at the address. She inclined her head slightly in acknowledgement, didn't quite manage to conceal her smile behind her champagne glass as she took a ship. "Enjoying yourself?"

"Mmm." She nodded as she swallowed. "It's so nice to be at a party where you don't have to worry someone's going to slide a knife between your ribs at any moment." She looked meaningfully at Gambit. "That's how I felt the entire time at Wollerton's."

Gambit smirked. "Well, Steed gives a lot of parties, and no one's died yet. At the very least, he'd put the body in the spare room where it wouldn't scare off the guests."

Purdey laughed merrily, and Gambit felt a wave of warmth wash over him at the sound, soothing all the old tensions of the past few days away. "I wouldn't put it past him, either. Bit of a shock to the cleaning woman, I would have thought."

"She's used to it."

"She'd have to be. I wonder if she has a special formula for scrubbing blood stains out of the carpet?" Purdey bit her lip mischievously.

"If she does, I want it. You lose a lot of shirts in the line of duty. Blood's tough to get out, even if it is your own."

Purdey tsked. "That's right. You spring a lot of leaks, don't you?"

"Of one sort or another." It was a bad joke, and Gambit knew it the instant it flowed out of his lips, but the champagne had flooded his brain, and the two weren't communicating very well. He tensed and waited for Purdey to respond, but all she did was laugh.

"So I've heard," she said brightly, then went to take another sip of her champagne, realized her glass was empty.

"Need a refill?"

"No," Purdey sighed. "I shouldn't. I've already indulged enough as it is."

"What was that? Your third, fourth?"

"Something like that." If she was honest, it was more like her eighth, but Purdey had always prided herself on her ability to hold her liquor, and champagne wasn't even one of the heavyweights. She had every confidence she would be able to hold herself together, but somewhere in the back of her mind she knew tonight wasn't an ordinary night. She pushed the thought aside and focused on Gambit. She was determined to enjoy herself after all of her hard work, and she wasn't going to let anything stop her.

"Then I need to catch up." Gambit waved at one of the waiters, and the instant the white-jacketed man had reached him, plucked up two fresh glasses, and downed them both, much to the man's surprise. He regarded Gambit with mild disdain as he returned the hastily-drained glasses to his tray. Gambit grinned unrepentantly. "I need to be on an even footing with the lady," he explained, and Purdey burst into a fit of giggles. "Not sporting otherwise."

The waiter rolled his eyes expansively and moved on. Purdey put a hand over her mouth to smother the laughs. Gambit regarded her with amusement. "You're tipsy," he observed, without judgment.

"Only a little," Purdey defended, managing to overcome her giggles.

"Well, I'll join you in a minute. Just need to wait for those last two to meet up with the others, and we'll be all set." He paused, looked thoughtful, then turned back to her. "There. I think they just hit."

"And so did claustrophobia," Purdey replied, suddenly finding the light and noise of the room oppressive. "Let's go out on deck. I can't hear myself think in here."

"I thought you'd never ask. Shall we?" Gambit offered her his arm, and she took it without hesitation. They headed out the door and into the cool night.

Outside things were calm and quiet. Light from the cabin spilled out onto the deck as they walked down the deck toward the back of the boat. They strode along in companionable silence, breathing the crisp night air, idly counting the stars. Somewhere down the river, another craft laden with revellers cruised past, leaving an ever-expanding set of ripples in its wake. They lapped against the bow of their ship, and the deck rocked beneath their feet. Gambit instinctively rolled with the waves, long years at sea having long ago reprogrammed his gait to harmonise with the sea. Purdey fared worse. Her sky-high stilettos betrayed her, and she staggered at the unexpected movement, losing her balance and pitching to her right. Gambit reached out automatically and wrapped an arm around her waist, changing her centre of gravity so she fell against him instead of onto the deck. She reached out instinctively to steady herself, ended up with an arm around his neck, and her face buried in his shoulder, the other hand resting comfortably on his hip. They stayed that way for a moment, neither daring to speak, both evaluating the nature of their position. Then Purdey lifted her head, turned her eyes, sparkling in the moonlight, up to meet his.

"Sorry…" she began, and Gambit smiled down at her kindly.

"No sea legs," he teased gently, and Purdey laughed, shook her head.

"That," she said huskily, "is why I brought a professional with me."

"In sailing?"

"Among other things." She shifted, but not to pull away; instead, she improved the fit of her body against his own. It was amazing how right it felt, how natural it seemed. Gambit raised an eyebrow. There were signals, and then there were beat-you-over-the-head messages in ten-foot tall letters. He was hoping it wasn't the drink talking.

"Do you want to, uh…?"

Purdey jerked her head off to the side. "First help me over to that bench. I'm liable to tip over again if I don't sit down."

"Can't have that," Gambit said jauntily, and swept her up into his arms. He regarded the shoes peeking out from under her skirt skeptically. "Are you hoping to break an ankle, or haven't you had time to go shoe shopping?"

She stuck her tongue out at him. "I do just fine when the ground's not wobbling about. Anyway, don't ruin the mood."

Gambit shook his head in mild disbelief, but carried her over to the little bench nailed to the deck near the rear of the ship. He set her down before taking a seat beside her, and they took a moment to compose themselves, looking at the stars rather than one another. Gambit thought that the moment had possibly passed, or that Purdey had changed her mind. Then the clear, crisp tones cut through the night.

"I don't want to say no."

Gambit glanced her way, felt his pulse speed up. "To what?" he rasped, throat suddenly dry.

She shrugged carelessly. "You won't find that out until you try, will you?" she teased, eyes shining with promise.

Gambit regarded her for a moment, turning this over in his mind, wondering if there was some trick he was missing. But Purdey didn't seem to be in the mood to play games. Everything about her—her posture, her expression, the way her hand was resting an inch away from his thigh—seemed to convey the message loud and clear. He took a deep breath and scooted a little closer to her, reached a hand around her neck. She closed her eyes, clearly anticipating a kiss, but Gambit went for the clip holding her hair in place instead, unfastened it easily. Purdey's eyes popped open as the blonde hair fell around her shoulders, cascading in long flaxen waves. He gazed at her, at the face, and the eyes, and the hair framing them, and marvelled at how she took his breath away. Gambit reached around with his other hand to brush some of it aside, traced the line of her jaw with his index finger. He could feel her trembling, just slightly, but she was smiling—a little too broadly, a little sloppily, but smiling nonetheless. Smiling the way he knew he was smiling.

"Biding your time?" she inquired, leaning ever-so-slightly into his touch.

"Just testing the waters."

She laughed, nodded to herself as though she didn't blame him. Somewhere in the background, the countdown to the New Year was taken up by Steed's party guests. "The ball's about to drop," she pointed out. "Care to do the honours?"

Steed rang the New Year in with the rest of his guests, toasted dozens of people as the fireworks exploded over the Thames. He glanced around idly for Purdey and Gambit, but they were nowhere to be found. He caught sight of the open back door, waded through the sea of people toward it. Out on the deck, he squinted out into the gloom, searching for two familiar silhouettes leaning out over the water. Instead, he spotted a pair sitting on a bench near the back. He strained his eyes, and saw just who they were. And what they were doing. He chided himself mentally. He'd wanted them to get to know one another, but he should have known better than to let them alone when the drink was so freely flowing. Between the excitement of the past few days, and the mood and lubrication, they were setting themselves up for a very uncomfortable working relationship. If they faltered, McKay would hold it over his head for months. No, they needed a little cooling down time. The proverbial bucket of ice water.

"Gambit! Purdey!"

Mike Gambit eased one eye open, and winced at the brightness of the light shining through the crack between the curtains. He turned his head away from the glare, and felt his brain pound gently against his skull, groaned in protest at the dull pain behind his eyes. As hangovers went, it wasn't going to win any awards. One of the milder cases he'd experienced, it was still strong enough to make itself known, and make its owner slightly miserable, even when he lay still. Gambit waited a few minutes for it to abate of its own accord, but when there was no relief forthcoming he said a few choice words into his pillow and lifted his head, squinted into the dim recesses of his flat. He was on his stomach on his retractable sofabed, still clad in his tuxedo shirt and trousers, arms and legs hanging over the edges untidily. Further investigation found his jacket and bow tie draped over his bar and nude female statue, respectively. Gambit blinked at the white silhouette uncomprehendingly, trying to gather his jumbled thoughts into something resembling order so he could paint an adequate picture of what had happened last night, and how he'd gotten here. Something niggled in the back of his mind. Women. A woman. The woman.

Purdey.

Purdey!

Gambit jerked upright with a start, and immediately regretted it. His head protested violently, and Gambit let his forearms take the strain, leaned on them so he could cradle his pounding cranium. The previous evening flashed by, played like a brightly-lit, slightly out-of-focus film in his brain. The party. The drinks. The walk out on the deck with Purdey. The feeling of her in his arms. The look in her eyes when he…

Gambit groaned again, with feeling, into the mattress, as he remembered just what he and Purdey had gotten up to. Not that he was particularly adverse to any of it. On the contrary, it was the sort of thing he'd been hoping for ever since he'd clapped eyes on her. And he'd enjoyed it very much the night before. Perhaps a little too much. And therein lay the problem.

If Purdey, who had clearly been as tipsy as he had, woke up nursing the same sort of headache he was, and replayed the night herself, what sort of conclusion would she draw? Would she laugh it off as two people mucking about? That wouldn't be too bad, but it would also forestall any further development in their relationship. Would she want to take things further? Desirable, but unlikely. Gambit had the feeling that, without the right combination of circumstances to push aside her inhibitions, Purdey would quickly return to her previous, guarded persona. That was the optimistic viewpoint.

The pessimistic one involved another Purdey entirely. An angry one, demanding to know what he meant by…doing what they'd done. Granted, she had been just as willing a participant as he. Gambit was very careful about that sort of thing, had learned how to judge just where the line was between pleasantly buzzing and compromised, and wasn't remotely interested in crossing it, had always ensured that both parties were willing participants. But that didn't mean that Purdey wouldn't decide that they'd crossed a different line, one that colleagues weren't meant to. And that would mean no partnership, not now, not in the future, and she'd go off, and he'd lose her. And then it would just be him and Steed. Forever.

Gambit cursed some more into his mattress, even though the coiled springs hadn't done anything to deserve it, and it didn't make him feel much better. Two partnerships mucked up in a matter of months. That had to be some sort of record. Maybe I should reenlist in the Navy, he mused miserably. Everything was straight-forward at sea. You knew where you stood with the mizzen.

His buzzer shrieked into the quiet of the flat and shattered Gambit's ability to mentally rehearse how to tie a sailor's knot. He swore one last time, aiming it at the world at large and the person at the door in particular, before picking himself up off the bed and staggering to the door. He opened it to find John Steed's smiling face.

He resisted the urge to punch it.

"Good morning, Gambit," Steed said cheerfully, sidling past him without bothering to be asked in. Gambit shut the door resignedly, wandered over to the kitchen to make himself some coffee. "I thought I'd drop in, see how you were after last night's festivities."

"I remember you driving me home last night," he grumbled, not bothering pleasantries. "What happened to my car?"

"Outside. I had it brought here just as soon as I'd dropped you and Purdey off."

Gambit winced visibly as he searched for the coffee in the cupboard. "Purdey," he repeated, taking out the bag. "Right. You dropping in on her this morning, too?"

"I had planned to see her later in the day, yes," Steed informed, placing bowler and brolly on Gambit's glass dining table. "She's due at the Ministry to play catch up. You're welcome to come along, of course."

Gambit set the coffee bag on the counter and pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly. "I don't think that's a very good idea."

Steed frowned, wandered over to lean on the other side of the counter. "Why? Is it because…well, I couldn't see everything, but from the looks of things, you were—"

"We were," Gambit cut in tersely. "Well, we were…fooling around. A little. Nothing major." He sighed. "But…well, you know Purdey."

"Just barely."

"Right, but enough to know what she's like about…"

"Relations…"

"Exactly. And the morning after, she might be—"

"Less than charitable?"

"That's putting it mildly."

Steed tsked. "I see. Well, that makes things difficult."

"Yes," Gambit said glumly, opening the coffee bag and spooning the grounds automatically into the coffee maker.

"You seem to be having quite a run at my parties," Steed said casually, pointedly looking at one of Mike's optical illusion prints rather than his colleague. Gambit closed the coffee maker with feeling.

"Look, I didn't set out to leave with—" He almost said her name, the name that was never spoken, that Steed had pointedly never uttered in all the time Gambit had known him. Mike didn't know if Steed avoided talking about his auburn-haired ex-colleague because it was just too painful, or because he didn't think it was anyone's business, but either way, Gambit wasn't keen to be the reason he broke the silence. He felt the anger drain out of him, replaced with resignation. He may have lost Purdey. What the hell did the rest of it matter?

Steed's shoulders were moving a bit too much with each breath, and Gambit could tell the normally unflappable man was quietly stewing, the grey eyes icy-cold. Gambit took a deep breath and leaned on the counter across from him, kept his eyes averted.

"All right, maybe I did do it just out of sheer bloody-mindedness," he admitted. "Revenge. Tit for tat. Call it what you want. But you should know, all we did—"

"Please." Steed held up a hand for silence. He clearly didn't want to have this conversation any more than Gambit did. "Let's leave it there. It's in the past." Gambit didn't know whether he meant the incident or the woman, but he suspected a bit of both. Steed was silent for a moment, and then the grey eyes cleared. Gambit had to admit he admired the man's ability to compartmentalize and stow away every painful part of his past. Gambit had gotten pretty damned good at it himself, but he was fairly certain he couldn't do that for the possible love of his life. Like Purdey. What the hell was he going to do about Purdey?

Steed was looking at him in mild bemusement now. "What do you mean, 'revenge'?" he wanted to know. "I'm not going to pretend the course of our working relationship has ever run entirely smooth, but I must admit I've found your recent bout of abrasiveness rather puzzling. If you're nursing a grudge, I'd like to know why."

Gambit snorted with derisive laughter and straightened up, started to pace the kitchen, running his hand through the dark curls. "We don't actually have to go through the whole thing, do we?"

Steed watched the pacing form with interest. "I think we had better, because I feel as though I've missed the second act. I know how it started, and I've come back for the end, but the usher interrupted me at some point in the middle."

Gambit chuckled at the metaphor, but not with any real humour. "Fine. We'll have it your way. Do you remember what my one condition was for signing up with you?"

"Yes," Steed said seriously. "No games."

"Exactly." Gambit whirled round and planted his hands firmly on the counter. "No games. If we were going to work together, you had to tell me what was going on. Not half the story and the rest when it suited you. Everything up front, so I knew what I was dealing with and how to work with you. And I told you why I needed that. Why I still need it."

"With good reason," Steed agreed. "I thought we were doing fairly well on that front. Until I brought Purdey in, I suppose, but if you're dead set against working with her…"

"This isn't about Purdey," Gambit cut in. "Before Purdey." He worked his jaw. "But after Berlin."

Steed's eyes widened slightly. "What about Berlin?"

"I took three bullets going over the wall—"

"Surely you don't think I had anything to do with that!"

"No. Not unless there's something else you're not telling me. No, I mean after I'd recovered and was about to go back on active duty. There was that assignment I wanted to be my first case back on the job. Remember?"

Steed searched his memory. "The Penningworth assignment?"

"The Penningworth assignment," Gambit confirmed. "You know as well as I do that I was a perfect fit for it. I could have really proved my worth as an agent on that one, even more than in Berlin. I told you that. I actually confided in you! How much I wanted it, wanted the challenge!" Gambit felt a smile tugging at his lips, but the anger was bubbling up underneath. "And you agreed! You said I'd be brilliant at it! But when I went to apply for it, do you know what the top brass said? They said I was unfit for duty! They said they'd been advised that I wasn't up to the job, and that I'd be better off working smaller assignments until I'd tuned back up."

"You had been badly injured!"

"I was fine!" Gambit snapped. "You know it and I know it. Even Kendrick had to admit that I was the fastest-healing agent that he'd ever seen! I was fit for it. But no, they gave it to Spelman. And when I went poking, asked who'd put the word in their ear that I was wrong for it, guess whose name they gave."

Steed closed his eyes. "Gambit…"

"Steed. Good old Steed. Good old 'put your trust in me' John Steed. I came to you. We talked about it. You could have told me right then that you thought I was unfit. You came right out and said I was perfect for it! And then you went behind my back and sabotaged it. Why? Because you wanted me at your beck and call? Terry and George and Bradshaw all too busy to run errands for you?"

"Gambit, let me explain…"

"If you can, I'll be very surprised."

"I never expected you to discover the source…"

"That much I figured out on my own. I do have a brain, you know. Comes in handy for things like, oh, say, the Penningworth case."

Steed leaned back and sighed. "I don't blame you for being upset," he said slowly, "but I acted in your best interests."

Gambit scowled. "Don't you think I should have some say on what's in my best interest? Or do you really have that low an opinion of me?"

"Of course not!" Steed snapped. He was getting annoyed, now. Gambit was barely letting him get a word in edgewise.

"Then why-?"

"Damn it all, Gambit, they were going to set you up!"

Gambit froze, mouth open to say something, but his jaw snapped shut the instant Steed's words hit home. He frowned, anger giving way to confusion. "What?"

"The top brass," Steed identified, with a little more control. Mike Gambit was one of the few men capable of making him lose his composure. He had a habit of pinpointing the same sort of uncomfortable truths Dr. David Keel had, and was just as tenacious about not letting Steed get away with any of them. Steed knew it was one of his best qualities, and made him a huge asset as an agent, but it didn't mean the younger man couldn't push his buttons. "They're not terribly pleased with the way McKay and I have handled your placement. They think we're giving you too much freedom by not forcing you to work with a partner."

"I'm working with you!"

"For me," Steed corrected with a small smile. "Though I like to think we're on more of an even footing, too. But in the books, I'm your boss, not your other half in the field."

Gambit's brow furrowed, two lines appearing the middle to form an '11.' "But why would they offer me the Penningworth job if they think I'm a loose cannon?"

Steed sighed. "Piece of information you don't have. They left out a few pertinent details of the assignment. What they are isn't important, but the implications are. That assignment could never be run by one man. He'd need back-up. They were planning on sending you in, waiting for your distress call so they could legitimately say that you'd botched the job, and then sending in Spelman to clean up your 'mess.' He's currently being accompanied by Walters on that assignment, though I don't imagine they told you that, either."

"No." Gambit was thoughtful now, jaw working anxiously. "But still, why would they come up with something that big, just to discredit me?"

"To make you malleable," Steed explained. "More likely to play by their rules. Perhaps even break you. They know your file, Gambit. All of it. They know what you're capable of, and they know you've already started to build yourself quite the reputation, and not just among the secretary pools." Gambit smirked a little at that, and Steed couldn't help but mirror it. "I don't know if you've realized it, Gambit, but you have enormous potential. If you play your cards right, you could, quite easily, go all the way to the top."

Gambit arched an interested eyebrow. "Top of the class? Top operative?"

"And beyond."

"Oh, come on, they don't really think—"

"If they didn't, they wouldn't be so interested in ensuring that you were under their thumb. They wanted to shake the confidence of you and everyone else in our department, scare you into playing by their rules. And as a nice bonus, they'd have proof that you need a partner, someone to help you out of tight spots." He smiled to himself. "I don't suppose your history of 'psychological trauma,' as they put it, is hardly going to fill them with confidence. For all they know, something could snap at any time. And with me in charge, they don't have much hope of anyone reining you in."

Gambit actually chuckled that time. "They're worried they're going to have another one of you on their hands, aren't they? And don't play coy—I've read the old files. I know exactly how many official reprimands you're due."

"I wouldn't be much of an agent if I didn't," Steed said brightly. "But back to the topic at hand. As you've no doubt gathered by now, I put you down as unfit for duty to keep them from following through on their plan. Sending an agent only running at half-capacity wasn't going to make your so-called 'incompetence' seem your fault."

"Check and mate," Gambit said, with a touch of admiration. "And they didn't bother to try and have it overturned."

"That would have meant a shouting match between them and the medical department, namely Kendrick, and McKay and myself if they were feeling particularly enthusiastic, at which point there would inevitably be questions regarding why, exactly, they were so set on you, and that might lead to more questions if anyone discovered that they were planning on sending an agent into an untenable situation."

Gambit whistled. "When I signed up, I didn't expect to be part of a department-wide conspiracy until at least my fourth year."

"As I said, you're moving up the ranks."

"Yeah." Gambit sucked his teeth. "Do you think they'll try it again?"

"Possibly," Steed allowed. "As I'm making revelations, I may as well state the obvious. We did have a legitimate reason to bring Purdey in, but I was rather hoping the pair of you would hit it off, and you could have a partner. I'm hoping to add Purdey to my stable regardless—her record's much too good—but if we could kill two birds with one stone…"

Gambit sighed and nodded. "I'd figured that much out on my own." He tapped his fingers on the counter. "I think I owe you an apology. And thanks."

Steed held up a hand. "All perfectly understandable. Knowing you, I probably should have let you in on what was happening behind-the-scenes, but I thought it would all seem that much more convincing if you were left in the dark. Still, one lives and learns. But if you're in the mood, there is one thing I'd like to know…"

"Sure," Gambit agreed. "What about?"

"What do you think of Purdey? And before you get, ah, 'creative,' I mean her potential as agent."

Gambit grinned wolfishly. "Ruin my fun," he murmured, then looked thoughtful. "She's smart as a whip. Knows how to handle herself in a fight. Observant. Fast learner. Keeps her head in a tight spot. Doesn't run when things get hairy. And her training scores are off the charts." He paused, considered. "The main thing she's lacking is experience, but you can't hold that against her when she's not even finished her training. And she's a bit impetuous. Liable to run off and try to do things on her own if someone's not keeping an eye on her. She has a lot to prove, more because she's a girl, and she can get in trouble for it."

"Agreed," Steed said with a nod. "But then you've still a few things to learn in the 'think first' department. Perhaps you can educate one another. That is, if you're willing to work with her again?"

"I don't think there's a man in the Ministry who'd turn her away," Gambit said with a smile. "They'd all think she was brilliant."

"Ah, but I want to know what you think."

Gambit's eyes grew distant. "I think she's possibly the greatest thing I've ever seen," he murmured. "And not just because of the hair and the eyes and the legs and the figure. There's just…something about her. Speaking of people who could end up at the top…"

Steed chuckled. "So you wouldn't object to working with her again?"

"Be a bit cruel to dangle her in front of me and then take her away again." The words were said as a joke, but there was complete sincerity in his eyes. As Steed watched, it faded into sadness. "That is, if she wants anything to do with me after last night." He looked down, and Steed was amazed at how downcast the young man suddenly looked. Heartbroken, even. Steed had seen Gambit linked with a number of girls since they'd become acquainted, but he'd never seemed so attached to them the way he seemed to be to Purdey. Nor had he ever taken the prospect of rejection so hard.

"Well, I'll just have to see what she has to say on the matter, won't I?" Steed said brightly, standing and moving to retrieve both bowler and brolly. "I'll make inquiries."

"Thanks, Steed," Gambit said gratefully. "For everything."

"Not at all," Steed said brightly, placing his hat on his head at the usual precise angle. "But I'm sure Purdey's not holding a grudge. I'll contact you just as soon as I've finished."

"Right," Gambit murmured, watching the senior agent leave. Then he sighed. "If I can wait that long."

Purdey Bryde stepped inside the Ministry's front door, unbuttoned her trench coat and shook it out to dislodge the snowflakes that had fallen onto it. After a mild New Year's Eve, it seemed London was paying for its good fortune with snow on the first day of 1976. Not that Purdey minded particularly. She was looking forward to catching up with her classmates, even though it meant coming in today, when the rest of her peers were at home sleeping off their hangovers. Truth be told, Purdey herself had woken up with a slight headache of her own, which she easily attributed to overindulging on champagne at Steed's party the night before. She remembered downing her last glass in Gambit's company, and thinking that it was probably one too many, but she'd always prided herself on her ability to remain composed, even while under the influence. Alas, she couldn't recall if she'd succeeded. Her memory of the evening ended after trading a few remarks with Mike, only followed up with hazy, half-remembered sensations of…something. Something nice. But no matter how hard she tried, the memory refused to return, and she didn't think it was just down to drink. She hadn't been drunk, not really. A bit giddy, a little too effusive in thanking Steed for dropping her off at her flat. But not drunk. It was as though, instead, her brain had chosen to block out that part of the evening between drinks with Gambit and being guided down the steps of her flat by Steed. Why, she couldn't imagine. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she had the feeling it was to protect herself from…something. Purdey had no idea what. She had built numerous defenses around her heart and mind over the years, out of survival more than anything. If that was what had happened, it was probably better that she didn't remember. All the same, she felt some sort of warm inner glow. Whatever had happened the night before couldn't have been all bad.

Purdey started toward the front desk, set about signing in at the log. The man behind the desk peered at her clip-on ID, then checked it against some of his paperwork. "You've been asked to report to Administration," he said to Purdey as she finished filling in the blanks of the form. Purdey frowned.

"What? I filled in all my paperwork weeks ago. Is something wrong?"

He shook his head. "You need to get your picture taken. For the new ID card," the man explained to Purdey. He picked up a folder on his desk, rifled through it until he came up with a fresh ID card and handed it over. Purdey looked at it. It was identical to hers, except missing the necessary photo. She was just about to ask what the difference was between her old and new one when she noticed that the designation read 'agent.' Then she read the name. It said "Purdey". Just Purdey. She looked up at the man behind the desk in surprise. He smiled.

"Mr. Steed said to tell you he'd had your name struck."

"Steed?" Purdey repeated.

"Steed." The voice came from across the lobby, and Purdey whirled around to catch sight of the tall, elegant figure making his way toward her, brolly swinging merrily. He came to stand next to her, looked at the card in her hands. "Ah, I see it's been finished. Everything all right?"

Purdey looked from him to the card and back again. "Yes, it's…well, it's wonderful. But, why? I mean, I'm not an agent yet, and the name—"

"You'll be one soon enough," Steed said with confidence. "In the next two or three months, I'd hazard. And when you do, you won't have to wait on bureaucracy to take your place on my team. That is, if you're interested in the post."

Purdey's jaw dropped, and the blue eyes lit up like Christmas lights. "A place on your team? Me?"

Steed beamed down at her. "And why not? You've made an excellent impression. I expect great things from you. I've already spoken to McKay, and he feels the same way. I've decided I'd like to get more involved in field work again, and I'll need a strong team to assist me. I've always preferred female partners, but this time around I thought I'd have a change and make it three."

"Three?" Purdey was hardly taking in the details, so excited by the prospect of working side-by-side with John Steed. "You mean, just like before? You, me, and—"

"Gambit," Steed finished. "Yes. Unless you've any objection to working with Gambit?"

Purdey frowned, and Steed gauged the reaction carefully. It didn't look feigned, or designed to cover up another emotion. "Why on earth should I object to working with Gambit?" she wanted to know. "I thought we were getting along famously by the end." The frown turned to worry. "Doesn't he want to work with me?"

"Very much so!" Steed assured, backpedaling like mad lest Purdey get the wrong impression. "But one doesn't like to presume."

"Well, you can presume this time," Purdey said with feeling. "I can't believe it! A spot on your team, and me not out of training!"

"You'll have to finish that training before you can take your place," Steed reminded, turning to leave. "Pay attention in all your lectures, and I'll see you very soon."

"You will! I promise I won't let you down!" Purdey called after him, then brushed her hair to one side, pondering how she should get it cut before her new photograph. She felt like a new woman, and like she needed a look to match.

Purdey smiled, a broad, huge smile, and laughed. Steed. Good old Steed. She went off down the corridor happy. She had a class to finish and a life to start. She couldn't wait.

End


End file.
